


Burgundy and Blush

by ominousunflower



Series: Burgundy and Blush [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Dancing, Excessive Use of French, F/M, Marichat, Masquerade, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower
Summary: Marinette needs a date for the dance, and Chat Noir is happy to help. But can the two teens in denial make it through the night without catching feelings?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm posting a Marichat fic during Ladynoir July...but in my defense, I started this in May.
> 
>  **Update April 2020** : In the first draft, I got a little carried away with using French words/phrases, since I watch the French dub and thus hear all of the show's dialogue in French. However, recently I've been going through my old fics and weeding out any French that seems out of place, and I think I've finally fixed everything. That said, I tried to provide context clues when possible, and if anyone needs translations, they’re in the endnotes for each chapter.

Marinette never should have promised Alya she’d find a date for the dance.

Her current problem began weeks ago, when le Collège Françoise Dupont announced that it would be hosting an end-of-year dance. While the student-proposed superhero theme had been turned down—the school wanted attendees to wear formal clothes, not latex suits or onesies—the administration had compromised by settling on a masquerade theme.

Immediately, Marinette’s mind had buzzed with outfit ideas. And while she had notebooks upon notebooks of dress designs, she was most excited to design a mask that _wasn’t_ red with black spots. Images of jewels and feathers (artificial, of course, for Adrien) had swirled in her mind, and starting the day the dance was announced, she threw herself into her work. So much so, in fact, that she finished the dress and mask with over a week to spare, even with akuma attacks derailing her progress.

No, an outfit isn’t the problem. Marinette _has_ an outfit.

What she doesn’t have is a date.

At this point, most of the girls in her friend group have significant others. Realizing this, they've all decided to attend the dance with their respective dates instead of going as a group. There's only one condition: _everyone_ has to find a date. If not, they'll ditch the idea so that no girl is the odd one out.

Far be it from Marinette to ruin her friends’ fun, so of course she'd agreed to those terms. After all, Alix wasn’t dating anyone, but she still planned to find a date—how hard could it be for Marinette to do the same?

The moment she’d agreed, Alya raised an eyebrow at her. “You _are_ going to ask Adrien, right?”

A chorus of encouragement from the other girls compelled Marinette to nod her head, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Of course! I mean, if he’s allowed to go. He might not be, the way his father is.”

“And if he can’t go, you promise you’ll ask someone else?”

“I promise!” Marinette had said, her smile growing strained.

As it turned out, Adrien was—unsurprisingly—not permitted to attend the dance. Marinette had already been close to chickening out anyway, so when he announced last week that he couldn’t go, she’d almost been relieved. Almost. A small part of her was disappointed, but as they’d all come to learn, c’est la vie when you’re Gabriel Agreste’s son.

For a moment, the other girls had almost abandoned their plans in solidarity with Marinette, but she insisted she’d be fine, assuring them she’d find a date. Sure, he wouldn’t be as handsome or sweet or charming or _perfect_ as Adrien, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was making sure she didn’t ruin everyone else’s plans.

But there's the problem: who is Marinette supposed to ask? She’s considered Luka, but after ditching him for Adrien at the ice rink and then all but pretending his latest love confession never happened, she doesn't want to toy with his feelings any more. Although he’s tempted her heart once or twice, she can't deny the truth: Adrien Agreste is the only boy for her.

However, as Marinette has learned the hard way, being Ladybug doesn’t leave time for much of a social life, so with Adrien and Luka crossed off her list, she’s left with no one else to ask. All the boys in her class have either found dates or aren’t going to the dance, and she doesn’t really know anyone from other classes or schools well enough to ask them.

And so, as the night before the dance drags on, Marinette stands on her balcony and tries to accept that she won't be going to the dance. If she does go alone, that will just give Chloé—or, more likely, Lila—ammunition to mock her. Worse, her friends might ditch their dates to make sure Marinette doesn’t feel lonely, and then she’ll have ruined the night for them.

She sighs, thinking of the dress hanging in her closet below. As with most of her designs, she’d worked so hard on it. She hates to think all of her effort went to waste. True, she could wear the dress some other time—but she’s still working up the courage to wear her designs in public, and a school dance would have been a nice start.

“Now why is such an exquisite girl sighing on a Thursday evening?” a voice asks.

Marinette yelps and throws herself back from the balcony railing. She stumbles into the small table behind her, ramming her hip, and then her legendary clumsiness kicks in. Limbs flailing, she knocks her teacup onto the floor, then pitches forward, hands grasping for purchase on something.

She runs into a body instead. Its hands find her hips, steadying her, and its green eyes stare down at her curiously.

“Chat Noir?” she exclaims. “What—what are you doing here?”

Grimacing, Chat Noir ducks around Marinette and retrieves the teacup she knocked over, then places it back on the table. “Sorry, Marinette. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” she says quickly. “What were you saying before?”

Chat clears his throat. “Ah, something unnecessarily flirty. Again, sorry. It seemed like you had something on your mind?”

“Oh.” Marinette turns to face him, tentatively leaning back against the balcony railing. “Well. Not much.” She glances at the buildings and rooftops around them, then down at the streets below. “There’s not an akuma, is there?”

“Nope,” Chat says. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

Part of Marinette wants to scold Chat for using his Miraculous to waltz around the neighborhood, but for one thing, she’s not Ladybug right now—she’s Marinette. For another, she honestly has no idea what her partner’s home life is like, so she’s not about to fault him for blowing off some steam every once in a while.

When she doesn’t answer, Chat keeps talking, as if he’s morally opposed to the idea of silence. “I would have thought you’d be excited? I heard there was a dance tomorrow. A masquerade, right?”

A small voice in Marinette’s head—one that’s dying to speculate about Chat’s identity—wonders if maybe he goes to her school. She resists the temptation to ask, instead saying, “Yes, there’s a dance tomorrow.”

Chat Noir nods. “Uh, I have a friend who goes to your school, if you’re wondering how I knew. I swear, I’m not some sort of stalker. This cat is always a gentleman.”

“If you’re such a gentleman, why are you creeping around young girls’ balconies late at night?”

Chat gasps indignantly, his tail standing straight up behind him. “Princesse!” he exclaims in mock outrage. Marinette bites her lip to hold back a laugh. “I was not _creeping._ In fact, I announced myself the moment I got here.”

“And scared me half to death,” Marinette grumbles.

“Yes, well, usually the response I get from girls is more favorable,” Chat says. If Marinette didn’t know him as well as she does, she’d think he was being cocky. As it is, she knows he’s either pretending to be conceited, or making some sort of inside joke that only he understands. “Again, I'm sorry. I thought you saw me land on the railing.”

“Well, I didn’t. But no hard feelings.” Marinette shrugs and hugs her arms to her body. “I guess I was too busy thinking.”

Chat tilts his head to the side. “You don’t look like someone who’s thinking about how excited she is for the dance tomorrow.”

“I’m not,” Marinette says.

“I would’ve thought you’d like dances,” Chat says. “I mean, not that I know you really well. But you seem outgoing.”

Marinette presses her lips together, avoiding Chat’s eyes. She’s not really doing this again, is she? How has Chat managed to make her tell him about her love troubles _twice_ now? For some reason, he feels so easy to talk to, and she finds an explanation tumbling from her lips. “My friends and I decided not to go as a group to the dance,” Marinette says. “Most of them are seeing someone—actually, two of them are seeing each _other_ —so only one or two of us had to find dates.”

“Did you not…already have a date?” Chat asks. He seems confused, which strikes Marinette as a little odd, since he shouldn’t know anything about her dating status. Then again, he did say she seems outgoing, so maybe that’s where he got the idea.

Marinette shakes her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend. There was this boy I was going to ask, but…”

“You didn’t ask him,” Chat guesses.

“I lost my nerve. And he’s not going anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Chat still looks like he’s stuck on something she said. “So you had to ask someone else?”

“No,” Marinette says. “That’s the thing. He’s the only person I wanted to ask. And…there’s another guy, but he’s—I’ve kind of led him on in the past, you know? And I don’t want to do that again.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but Chat winces. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Nodding, Marinette continues, “And it might surprise you, since—as you put it—I’m so _outgoing_ , but I really couldn’t think of any other guys to ask.”

“That’s terrible,” Chat says. “So you’re going alone, then?”

“Actually, I’m not going at all.”

Chat gasps for real this time. “What?” he practically shouts. His green eyes are blazing in the night, which baffles Marinette, since he really has no reason to be _this_ outraged on her behalf. “But you spent weeks making a dress! I—I mean, _did_ you spend weeks making a dress? Because you look like the kind of person to spend weeks making a dress.”

Marinette decides to ignore that oddly specific (and accurate) conclusion. After all, Chat’s been in her room a few times. He probably saw her mannequin and sewing supplies. Or, if they do have a mutual friend at Françoise Dupont, he could’ve heard about her designing through them.

“I did make a dress,” Marinette says. “And a mask. But I don’t want to ruin anyone’s night, Chat. If I go alone, my friends will feel like they need to spend time with me. And I promised them I’d find a date. I’d rather not go at all than go and look like a liar.”

“You wouldn’t be a liar,” Chat says. “Things happen. Plans fall through.”

“But it’s like I said,” Marinette insists. “I know them. They’d all abandon their dates to spend time with poor lonely Marinette. I don’t want…” She grits her teeth, not sure if she wants to scream or cry. “I don’t want them to pity me.”

Chat contemplates that for a second, then shrugs. “Well, if you won’t go alone, then I guess you leave me no choice.” With a wink, he bows and takes her hand in his. “Allow me to accompany you to your school dance, princesse?”

“What?” Marinette screeches, yanking her hand back. “No, you can’t! You—you have a secret identity to protect!”

“Marinette, it’s a masquerade. You know, with masks? I’ll be fine. We’ll just pick a fake name and say I’m your friend from out of town. Or that we met online. Something like that.”

Marinette hesitates. It was one thing for her father to invite Chat Noir to breakfast at their house that one time—and even that had been out of line. Chat Noir shouldn’t be interacting with civilians. He’s a superhero! The only time he should be spending time with civilians is during an interview or an akuma attack.

Finally, she shakes her head. “No, Chat. I can’t ask that of you. You’d be detransformed, right? Someone could discover your identity.”

“I’ll tie the mask tight,” Chat says. “And use three kinds of adhesive. And put black makeup underneath. Merde, I’ll even use a sharpie.”

“No,” Marinette admonishes. “No, you will not, because that would _definitely_ be noticeable in your civilian life.” 

Chat smiles. “All right, all right. No sharpie. My father would kill me if I did that, anyway.”

Marinette forces herself not to file that information away. She shouldn’t be compiling clues about Chat Noir’s civilian life. “I don’t know, Chat. I appreciate the offer, it’s very sweet, but…it still seems reckless.”

“Ah, but Marinette,” Chat says, “that’s my entire brand! Ladybug’s the strategist, I’m the risk-taker. It’s what I do.” As Marinette fumbles for words, he lifts her hand to his lips and lets his mouth hover a centimeter from her skin. “And I assure you, the risk is worth it if it means I have the pleasure of accompanying you to a dance.”

Marinette wishes she could ask Tikki for her thoughts. The kwami definitely has strong opinions when it comes to Chat Noir—not that she’s willing to share them half the time. Left with no ancient deity to ask for help, though, Marinette hedges. “I’m flattered, really, but…”

“But you’d rather let your dress go to waste?” Chat says, raising an eyebrow. “You’d rather sit at home and envy your friends who went to the dance?”

Oh, _why_ must Chat Noir have a good point for once? Marinette’s fast losing her will to argue with him. “I could wear the dress another time. It’s really not…”

“What about the mask?” Chat says. “You said you made a mask as well.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette lies. “I didn’t spend that much time on it.”

Chat gives her a flat look. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, half-assing a design? Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe.”

“You don’t know that much about me,” Marinette says, and there’s another unspoken question beneath her words: _how do you know that much about me?_

There are a few explanations. One is that Chat somehow knows her in real life, which—nope, no, she’s not going to let herself go there. They have secret identities for a reason. While she could easily map out the clues to his identity with the same fervor she applies to her pursuit of Adrien, and probably even come up with a list of likely suspects, she knows it’s for the best if she doesn’t think too hard about her partner’s secret identity.

Instead, she goes with an equally feasible explanation: Chat Noir is a bit of a know-it-all, and he probably likes to think he has everyone figured out. She has no doubt that extends to a civilian like herself, even if he’s only met her a few times.

“Perhaps,” Chat says. “Then, let me tell you what I _do_ know. You, Marinette Dupain-Cheng—an objectively kind and helpful girl—”

“This doesn’t sound very _objective.”_

“Hush,” Chat says. “Anyone who’s met you could see that. Zut, you’re about to skip a dance just because you don’t want to ruin your friends’ evening. That’s very sweet of you, if not utterly ridiculous.”

“Have you been hanging out with Chloé?” Marinette teases.

Chat laughs. “Back to what I was saying. Here in front of me, I see a girl who wants to go to a dance—a girl who spent ages making a dress _by hand_ for said dance—but doesn’t want to attend alone because she’ll disappoint her friends. This girl now has a dashing, handsome cat offering to be her date so that she can attend, and for some reason, she’s struggling to make up her mind.” He holds his hands up. “But the answer is clear, non?”

“I…I…argh!” Marinette hides her face in her hands. “Why is this so convincing? You shouldn’t be persuading me!”

“Well, this cat is very _purr-suasif_ , you know.”

Marinette groans at the cat pun, made worse by the fact that Chat has to use the English word for _ronronner_ to make it work. “It might actually be less embarrassing to go alone than to go with someone who resorts to franglais for puns.”

“Outrageous!” Chat says. “Here I am, showing off my multilingual talents—a true _homme de la ronronnais-sance_ , if I say so myself—and you say you’re not impressed?”

Marinette giggles despite herself. “That one was slightly better.”

Grinning, Chat takes her hand again. “Then what do you say, princesse? Willing to let this tomcat be your date to the dance tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “My papa always told me not to date strange cats who land on my balcony.”

“Oh, I’m hardly a stranger,” Chat says. “You’ve already brought me home to meet your parents, remember?”

Marinette shoves him playfully with her free hand. “That’s only because my papa invited you. And do you remember how well _that_ went?”

Chat gulps comically, though some of the fear in his eyes seems real. “How could I forget? Your father is…very protective of you. A fine, upstanding man. Quite admirable. Uh, tell him I said that, would you?”

“Chat—”

“Also, I don’t often get to go to these sorts of events. Really, Marinette, you’d be doing me a favor if you let me be your date.”

“Alright,” Marinette relents. “You can take me to the dance. But I don’t want to lie to my parents, so we should probably tell them you’re going to be my date.” When Chat opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to protest, she adds, “Don’t worry. They’ll be thrilled. They really do like you.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim glow of the balcony lights, but she thinks Chat’s cheeks might be a little pink. “They do?”

“Papa wanted us to date, remember? And he’d only want the best for his daughter. Trust me. He thinks you’re great.”

Chat lets go of Marinette’s hand to rub the back of his neck. “Ah—well—that’s good. I, um, I’m not used to people liking me for…” He presses his lips together, hesitating before he continues. “Without the mask, people tend to just like me for my looks, I think. I can’t be sure, but that’s the feeling I get sometimes.”

His words make Marinette’s heart hurt—how _dare_ people be so shallow towards her chaton? People should like him for his other qualities: his bravery, his humor, his determination, his kindness. And yet they only pay attention to his looks?

But Marinette can’t say any of that, because she’s not supposed to know Chat Noir that well. Instead, she cracks a smile. “Well, I don’t _think_ that’s why papa likes you. He tends to value personality over appearances.” She snorts. “And puns. He definitely likes you for your puns.”

“Ah, see, I _knew_ I liked your father,” Chat says. “It takes a refined sense of humor to appreciate wordplay.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“But don’t worry,” Chat says with a wink. “I still like you, even if you don’t like my puns.” He leans close to whisper in her ear. “Though I suspect that you secretly do, princesse.”

At the feel of his breath on her cheek, an odd shiver goes through Marinette. She tells herself it’s just the chill of the evening. “Keep telling yourself that, Chat.” She gently pushes his chest away. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

“But of course.” Chat steps back. “Go and tell your parents the good news. I’m sure you can hardly contain yourself.”

“That will have to wait until morning. They’re asleep right now.”

“Ah, dommage,” Chat says. “I hope the anticipation doesn’t keep you up all night.”

“It won’t,” Marinette says flatly.

Chat laughs at that. “No need to be so blunt. But I’ll leave now, if you insist.” He gives her one of his signature overdramatic bows, then jumps up onto her balcony railing, pulling his baton from where it’s fastened at his back. “Should I meet you here, then? At what time?”

Marinette nods. “In the apartment below. I’m guessing my parents will want to see you before we go to the dance. And the dance starts at seven, so…quarter-past six? It’s not too far of a walk to Le Grand Paris.”

“Sounds good.” Chat gives her a salute. “À bientôt, Marinette.”

“Salut, Chat Noir.” As he turns to leave, she yanks lightly on his tail. “Oh, and Chat? Thank you. Really.”

Chat smiles. “No need to thank me. Like I said, the pleasure is all mine.”

Marinette blushes despite herself. With one last cheeky grin, Chat extends his baton and vaults to the nearest rooftop, calling out another goodbye as he leaps through the night.

Once he’s gone, Tikki floats from hiding and hovers at Marinette’s shoulder. “How exciting, Marinette! You’re going on a date with Chat Noir!”

“It’s—I—I’m not going on a _date_ with him!” Marinette splutters. “He’s doing me a favor. As a friend. Because we’re friends.”

“If you say so,” Tikki says, but when Marinette turns to look at her, there’s a glimmer of amusement in her large blue eyes. “But Marinette! Now you can take this opportunity to get to know him better. Maybe you’ll even get to see his more sensitive side!”

“Tikki,” Marinette says. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Marinette crosses to her pink deck chair and drops into it with a sigh. “Because if I get to know him better, that could compromise his secret identity! Or mine. Oh, no. Tikki! What if he starts to notice too many similarities between me and Ladybug? What if he already has? What if he knows who I am and is just teasing me and—”

“Marinette!” Tikki exclaims, zipping in front of her. “Calm down! Chat Noir doesn’t know who you are.”

Marinette hugs her arms around herself and pouts. “How do you know?”

Tikki giggles, her laugh pealing like tiny bells. “Because if he did, he’d be over here making love confessions every night!”

“Argh!” Marinette throws her hands over her face. “I’d almost forgotten he was in love with me!”

“Ooh,” Tikki says. “Maybe this will make Chat Noir fall in love with Marinette!”

_“Tikki!”_

She never should have promised Alya she’d find a date for the dance.

* * *

At the cafeteria the next day, Marinette sends silent thanks to Chat when she’s able to tell her friends that she does, in fact, have a date.

Rose claps excitedly. “That’s wonderful! What’s his name?”

“Ch—Charles,” Marinette says. “His name is, uh, Charles.”

“Does he go to this school?” Alya asks. Oh, no. She’s got that _investigative reporter_ gleam in her eyes. Marinette senses that this is about to turn into an interrogation.

“No, no,” Marinette says, waving her arms. “He’s from—from out of town.” She shoves a bite of salad in her mouth, half-chewing it before she asks, “So what do your dresses look like?”

“Mine is a suit,” Alix deadpans.

“Mine is pink!” Rose says.

While Mylène starts to describe her dress, Alya continues to squint at Marinette. Swallowing, Marinette realizes that she’s only bought herself a few minutes before Alya starts questioning her again. Merde, she should have come up with a cover story last night. But she’d been too excited about being able to attend the dance to worry about the logistics of bringing Chat Noir as her date.

A few moments later, Juleka finishes mumbling about her dress, and then all eyes are back on Marinette.

“So,” Alya drawls, something hungry in her gaze. “Tell us about this mystery man, Marinette.”

Marinette’s mouth moves soundlessly. _Quick! Say something! Anything!_

“Marinette,” Alya says. “You _do_ have a date, right?”

“Yes!” Marinette exclaims. “Yes, and he’s—”

She breaks off as her cell phone starts vibrating in her pocket. Relieved to have a distraction, she whips it out and checks the number. It’s not one she recognizes, and normally, she’d let it go to voicemail—but she needs a diversion, and she’s not going to pass up this chance. She stands and takes a step away from the table to answer the call.

“Allô?” she says.

“Ah, salut, princesse!” a familiar voice responds. “How's it going?”

Marinette almost drops the phone. “Cha—Charles? Why are you calling?”

“Charles?” Chat echoes. “Who’s Charles?”

“Oh, is that him?” Rose squeals.

The other girls all start calling out questions at once. Alya looks like she’s five seconds from snatching the phone out of Marinette’s hand.

“Are those your friends I hear?” Chat asks. “They’re rather loud.”

“Yes,” Marinette says, trying not to grit her teeth. “I’m at lunch right now.”

“Ah, I should have guessed,” Chat says. “So, then, Charles is the name we’re going with? I was thinking something a little more debonair, maybe Raphaël or—”

“Cha—Charles!” Marinette interrupts. “Is there a reason you’re calling? I thought we already worked out all the details.”

“But Marinette, I forgot the most important part!”

Why, _why_ can Chat never get straight to the point? Marinette curses her partner’s chattiness. Then again, if he keeps talking, she might be able to make it to the end of lunch without answering any of her friends’ questions. This might not be so bad.

“And what part would that be?” Marinette asks.

“Your dress.”

“My…dress?”

“Oh, yes!” Rose interrupts. “Your dress, Marinette. You never told us what it looked like.”

“What about my dress?” Marinette asks.

“The colors, of course,” Chat says. “I want to make sure we match.”

Everyone’s eyes and ears are still trained on Marinette, which is the only thing keeping her from scolding Chat for bothering her about something so trivial. “It doesn’t matter, Ch—chéri,” she says. “Just wear something that looks good on you.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Chat echoes, sounding outraged. “Of course it matters! I can’t just wear something that looks good on me _._ It has to look good with you, too.”

Marinette sighs. “Fine. It’s pink and red. Is that all?”

“Not quite,” Chat says. His voice is sing-song—he’s enjoying this game, whatever it is. “What kind of pink and red?”

“What? Pink and red. Just wear black like I’m sure you were planning to.”

“But what _kind_ of pink? A warm pink? A cool one?” Chat asks. “And are we talking blue-red, or orange-red? Given your skin tone, I’m assuming blue-red, but perhaps I’m mistaken. And is it a darker red? A darker shade would work quite well with your comple—”

“Charles!” Marinette snaps. Beneath her irritation, though, she’s kind of impressed. She’d thought Chat was only asking about the dress to mess with her, but given the questions he asked, it sounds like he actually knows what he’s talking about. “What is so difficult to understand about this? The dress is pink and red.”

“Hey, go easy on the guy,” Alix says.

“He’s just trying to help,” Mylène adds.

“Yeah, girl,” Alya says, nudging Marinette. “Sounds like this guy wants to make your night perfect.”

“As if,” Marinette says. “He just wants to be a pain in the ass.”

Chat gasps on the other end of the line. “Perish the thought! I have no such intention. I just want to make sure your design stands out as much as possible.”

Marinette pinches the bridge of her nose. Only Chat could manage to turn such a sweet gesture into something so infuriating. “Is that so?”

“Marinette,” Chat says, his voice turning more serious. “I mean it. I know how important fashion is to you. I want to highlight your design as much as possible.”

“I—I appreciate that,” Marinette says, softening her tone. “Sorry. I thought you were joking.”

“Oh, I never joke when it comes to fashion.” Marinette can’t see Chat, but she has a feeling he just winked. “So. What kind of pink and red are we working with?”

“Blush pink. And it’s not exactly red. More of a burgundy.”

“Marinette!” Chat exclaims. He almost sounds scandalized. “You were going to have me wear _red_ accents when your dress is _burgundy?_ And what if I had picked magenta? Mince alors, that would have been a disaster.”

“I didn’t think you’d have those specific colors in your wardrobe,” Marinette says. “I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

Chat is silent for a moment. “Alright. Can you send me a picture or something? I think I know what colors you mean, but I don’t want to pick a shade that’s slightly off.”

“You just have to pick a tie or pocket square,” Marinette says. “It’s fine if it doesn’t match perfectly.”

“Oh, no,” Chat says. “I’m matching my entire outfit to yours.”

“What? How are you even going to find clothing with these exact colors so last-minute?”

“You severely underestimate the extent of my wardrobe, _chérie._ I’ll be fine.”

“Your...wait, how big can your wardrobe possibly—”

“Do you have any leftover fabric from when you made the dress?” Chat continues. “If you have any scraps, I can stop by your house after school and take those home with me. That way I can match them to clothes in my closet.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist, Marinette.”

Marinette sighs. “You win. Come by my balc—the bakery after school, and I’ll give you the fabric swatches there.”

“Great!” Chat says. “I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up before Marinette can respond. She pulls her phone away from her ear and stares at it, not entirely sure what just happened.

“Girl!” Alya says. “Whoever this guy is, he’s super devoted to you. I say keep him.”

“Maybe this will finally make her forget about Adrien,” Alix jokes.

Marinette shakes her head, hands flailing. “No! Of course not! Chat—Charles and I are just friends. I’m still in love with Adrien. Promise.”

“Ugh.” Alix slumps over the table. “That means more insane schemes to get the two of you together, doesn’t it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Alya says. “From the sound of things, Marinette and this Charles guy were bickering like an old married couple. I think maybe she _does_ like him.”

“I don’t like him!” Marinette practically yells, prompting several students at other tables to look at her oddly. Face flushing, Marinette repeats in a quieter voice, “I don’t like him that way. Really.”

“If you say so,” Alya says. Suddenly, she jumps to her feet and slams her palms on the table. “Now. Spill. Who is this guy? How did you meet? What does he look like?”

“I...I’ll introduce you tonight, promise,” Marinette says, pocketing her phone. “But, er, when I was talking to Cha— _Charles_ , I remembered I left one of my notebooks at home. I’d better go get that now! I’ll see you all tonight.”

“Wait—”

But Marinette is already gone, scurrying out the door of the cafeteria at record speeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on Friday!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  persuasif – persuasive  
> ronronner – to purr (ronronnais – was purring)  
> homme de la renaissance – Renaissance man; a person who has many talents or is knowledgeable about a wide range of things  
> dommage – what a shame  
> salut - hi/bye
> 
> chéri(e) – darling  
> mince alors – gosh / geez  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Quick note:** As of January 2020, there is now a 1,000-word drabble from Adrien's perspective [here](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/190068135160/burgundy-and-blush-excerpt-adrien-pov) on my Tumblr. Go give it a read, if you're interested! It takes place during the first part of this chapter, but it doesn't spoil anything.

As promised, Chat stops by Marinette's balcony a few minutes after school to pick up the fabric swatches. Marinette highly doubts they’ll do him any good, but since he’s so intent on seeing them, she can’t bring herself to refuse. Along with the fabric, she also gives him a mask that she made a few weeks ago, back when she had delusions of her and Adrien attending the dance as a matching set.

Chat thanks her with a kiss to the hand, then pockets the swatches and rushes off, muttering something about only having two hours to get ready.

Marinette would have thought that two hours was plenty of time for Chat—he’s never struck her as the sort of person to spend hours on his appearance. She says as much to Tikki once he’s left.

“Maybe he’s as excited about the dance as you are?” Tikki says.

Marinette laughs. “Maybe.” Chat _does_ seem pretty enthusiastic, now that she thinks about it. “He did say last night that he doesn’t usually get to go to this sort of thing. I thought he was just saying that to persuade me, but maybe he was serious.”

“It looks like the two of you will enjoy yourselves tonight,” Tikki says. “Oh, are you going to put on the dress now? I want to see how it looks!”

“You’ve already seen what it looks like,” Marinette says, smiling as she lowers herself through the balcony’s trapdoor.

“I know,” Tikki says, zooming around Marinette’s bedroom. “But I want to see it again!”

“In a bit,” Marinette assures her. “I have to do my makeup and hair first.”

After grabbing a quick snack downstairs, Marinette gathers her beauty supplies and sets to work. There’s not much to do with makeup—she’ll be wearing a mask, after all—but she decides to at least apply some lipstick and mascara.

 _Masque-ara_ , says the part of her mind tainted by Chat’s constant punning. Her lips twitch into a smile.

"What are you thinking about, Marinette?” Tikki asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Marinette says, reaching for the mascara. “I just thought of a pun.”

Tikki laughs. “Chat would be proud!”

“Ugh. That’s what I was worried about.”

Once the mascara is applied, she reaches for her favorite tube of lipstick, a nude shade that’s only a bit darker than her actual lips. Before she can grab it, though, Tikki flies in front of her with a different tube of lipstick clutched in her paws. “Here, Marinette!”

“Thanks, Tikki,” Marinette says, “but I already have the color I want.”

“But that one’s the same color as your lips.” Tikki waves the other tube of lipstick in front of Marinette, brandishing it like a sword. “Try this one!”

Marinette tentatively accepts the lipstick from Tikki, uncapping it and twisting the bottom to check the color. It’s a dark berry—far too bold for her, even if it does match her dress. “Sorry, Tikki. This is an impulse purchase from a while back. It’s really not my color. I just keep forgetting to get rid of it.”

She absentmindedly swipes it across the back of her hand, leaving a shimmering streak on her skin. Considering, she holds her hand up to her face. It’s not _too_ bad, really…

After a moment of consideration, Marinette sighs and wipes the lipstick off her hand. “No, Tikki. I just don’t think I can pull it off.”

 _Why not?_ Chat’s voice says in her head. _With such beauty, you could pull anything off, princesse. Don’t be so timid._

For some reason, those imaginary words—combined with Tikki’s very effective puppy-dog eyes—are enough to change Marinette’s mind. “Oh, fine. Why not? It’s going to be dark at the dance, anyway. No one will be able to see my bad makeup choices.”

“I think it’s a good choice!” Tikki says, gleefully handing the dark lipstick to Marinette.

And even though Chat never _actually_ encouraged Marinette to wear this shade, she’s now mentally holding him accountable for it. That damn cat had better comment on her fantastic lipstick selection the moment he sees her.

Since she’s wearing her hair down, Marinette decides to just curl it a little and hairspray it so that it holds. After that, she's left with nothing else to do except put on her dress, so she ends up killing time by watching videos on her phone. All the while, though, she worries about what sort of outfit Chat is going to come up with. She wants to trust her partner, she really does—but, well, she’s seen his superhero suit.

So much leather. So many zippers. It even has a _bell._ Sure, he gets points for creativity, but he also looks like he belongs in a BDSM club. Not that Marinette would ever tell him that. For one thing, the sex jokes would never stop, and for another, she doesn’t want to embarrass him. (Plus, a very, very small part of her thinks the costume is cute.)

Marinette’s phone rings a half hour before Chat is supposed to arrive, lighting up with a photo of Chat mid-sneeze. After he’d called her at lunchtime from his baton, Marinette had decided to add his number to her contacts; because he annoyed her, though, she’d made his contact picture a photo taken during a fight with Monsieur Pigeon.

She answers on the second ring, putting him on speaker so that Tikki can hear. “Chat? What’s wrong?”

“Princesse!” Chat says. He sounds out of breath. “One last question about your outfit.”

Marinette bites back a groan. “Yes, Chat?”

“Is it just those two colors? There aren’t any other accent colors, are there? Like brown or gray?”

If it wasn’t all so last-minute, Marinette would almost be touched by her chaton’s attention to detail. “Just the pink and burgundy. You can wear whatever belt and shoes you want.”

“Whatever I want, hm? Do you really mean that?” Chat asks. “I might show up in one of those Western belts. You know, the ones that cowboys wear, with the huge tacky buckles?” He hums to himself. “Oh, I know! Maybe one with a giant cat in the center! What do you think, Marinette?”

Uh oh. He sounds _way_ too excited about this idea. “Please tell me you don’t own a belt like that.”

“No,” Chat says, laughing. “Unless père still has my Halloween costume from when I was seven, which I doubt. Don’t worry, Marinette. I’ll wear a normal belt. Is black okay?”

Marinette notes that he hasn’t explicitly promised to wear normal shoes. She hopes that’s implied. “Black is good,” she says. “After all, you’re Chat _Noir,_ not Chat Marron.”

“Ah! Incorrect!” Chat sings. "Tonight I’m Charles, remember?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Right. Charles.”

“You know,” Chat says, “I wouldn’t have thought to put pale pink and burgundy together, but it really is a nice combination. And I don’t think I’ve seen many formal dresses with that color palette, if any. Très unique.”

While she doubts Chat has seen that many formal dresses at all, Marinette still smiles at the compliment. “Thank you, Chat.” She glances at the dress draped over her desk chair. “Hopefully you like the design as much as the colors.”

“If you designed it, I’m sure I will. You’re very talented, Marinette.” There’s something odd about his voice when he says those words—it’s softer, steadier, lacking its usual singsong quality.

Marinette swallows. “I…um…”

“Uh!” Chat clears his throat, and his next words are spoken in his usual tone of voice. “I’d better finish getting ready. See you soon.”

He hangs up before she can say goodbye.

Marinette lies down on her chaise, face burning. “Tikki,” she moans. If her hair didn’t look so nice, she’d be tearing it out. “Why is he _like_ this?”

Tikki hovers above her stomach. “Like what?”

“Like—like he—one minute he’s joking, and the next he’s telling me how wonderful I am, except it sounds like he _means_ it, and I’m Marinette right now, not Ladybug, which means…which means he thinks _Marinette_ is wonderful, but why would he think that, Tikki? Why is he doing this? Why—why would he—argh!”

“Relax, Marinette,” Tikki says. “Take a deep breath.”

Marinette forces herself to inhale slowly, holding her breath for four beats before exhaling at the same speed. Once her heartrate has gone back to normal, she sits up and pats her hair to make sure it’s still in place. “I just…why does he act the way he does?”

Tikki hesitates. In that moment, Marinette remembers that ever since fighting le Hibou Noir—and for perhaps even longer—Tikki has known the civilian identity of Marinette’s partner. While Marinette’s question had been rhetorical, it’s possible Tikki actually knows the answer.

Finally, Tikki sighs. “I think Chat Noir has trouble expressing his feelings. For whatever reason, he shows affection two different ways. Sometimes it’s exaggerated—”

“Like when he flirts with Ladybug?”

Tikki nods. “And other times, he’s more sensitive. Like the night you fought Glaciator.”

“But, so…” Marinette frowns. “You think he means all of it? The exaggerated and the…not-exaggerated?”

“I think so!” Tikki says. “Either way, it’s clear he values you as a friend, Marinette. He just needs some encouragement when it comes to expressing his feelings!”

“I—I don’t know…”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know! When he’s serious like that, it makes me feel…” Marinette pauses, searching for a way to describe the combination of warmth and nervousness in her stomach. “Weird.”

Tikki smiles encouragingly. “You’ll figure it out.” She zips across the room and tugs at Marinette’s dress. “Now let’s put on the dress!”

“Okay, okay,” Marinette says, smiling. “Since you’re so eager.”

She follows Tikki across the room to where she’s laid out her dress and mask, pausing to admire her handiwork before putting it on. The skirt of the dress is made from a blush pink georgette chiffon, which Marinette chose not only because the cloth suited the design’s A-line skirt, but also because it was lightweight enough to layer. Underneath it, she’s added burgundy petticoat netting, giving the skirt more volume and a splash of dark color at the bottom.

The bodice of the dress—sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline—is also burgundy, and sewn over the dress from the waist up is a matching shade of guipure lace that Marinette had spent days selecting. It’s a continuous pattern, with tiny flowers encased in swirling leaves and vines. The lace extends above the sweetheart neckline to form a high collar around Marinette’s neck, then continues down her shoulders and arms until just above her elbows. Finally, a band of burgundy fabric wraps around the dress’s high waist, disguising the seam where the lace meets the rest of the dress.

This dress marks her first successful attempt at working with lace. Past experiments had ended in mis-cut fabric and clumsy seams, but not this one. Of course, it hadn’t been easy. Cutting the lace properly, meticulously marking seam lines with thread, making sure the seams were hidden—there had been multiple opportunities for failure. And while inserting invisible zippers in a normal dress could be hard enough, Marinette quickly found out that working with lace was even trickier. Thank goodness she knew about selvedges, or her attempts would have been a disaster.

While the design is technically modest, there’s no mesh underneath the lace—Marinette’s upper back and décolletage will be entirely bare beneath the thin layer of fabric. It’s a classy way of showing some skin, and a bit more daring than her usual wardrobe choices.

Marinette strips and steps into the dress, delicately pulling it past her waist and up over her chest. Then she carefully slips her arms through the snug sleeves, aware that clumsiness at this stage could cause damage that she doesn’t have time to repair.

Holding the dress in place against her back, Marinette turns to Tikki. “Zip me up?”

Tikki giggles. “Don’t you want to wait for Chat Noir to do it?”

“Tikki!” Marinette hisses, blushing. “No—that’s not—it would be—agh! Just zip me up, please.”

Still laughing, Tikki drifts behind Marinette and tugs the zipper up, closing the back and securing the dress. Satisfied that it won’t fall down, Marinette removes her hands and wanders over to her mirror to check the front of the dress.

“You did a wonderful job, Marinette,” Tikki says, flying in excited circles around her. She’s starting to make Marinette dizzy.

“I hope so,” Marinette says, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes can’t help but pick out miniscule problems: the way the right sleeve has a slightly different shape than the left one, or the way the underskirt doesn’t quite sit evenly if she holds her weight a certain way. She doubts anyone else will notice, but a small voice in her head, the one that’s prone to catastrophizing, wonders, _W_ _hat if they do?_ What if there’s some mistake that she overlooked? What if Lila or Chloé finds something to make fun of? What if someone sends a picture to Adrien and he thinks she’s untalented and unfashionable and he shows it to his father and Gabriel Agreste _laughs at her design—_

“Marinette!” Tikki says. She floats down to settle on Marinette’s shoulder, her large blue eyes meeting Marinette’s in the mirror. “What’s wrong? Why do you look upset?”

Marinette takes a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” she says, then retrieves her mask from where it’s lying on her desk.

It’s the same shade of pink as the skirt of her dress, with a dark red fabric border made from some leftover guipure lace. While Marinette had considered using glitter glue to add some sort of design to the body of the mask, she ultimately decided that simpler was better and left it plain. However, at Tikki’s behest, she did attach two large fabric flowers with jewel centers to the top right corner of the mask. Three slender burgundy feathers—artificial, of course, since she’d been thinking of Adrien—protrude from behind the flower, adding height to the mask without making it too bulky.

Ever concerned with letting her identity slip, Marinette made sure that the mask was a different shape than her Ladybug one. Her masquerade mask is longer, similar to Chat’s superhero mask in that it covers more of her cheekbones and nose. She doubts anyone would notice either way, but better safe than sorry.

“Tikki,” Marinette says, holding the mask against her eyes and nose, “could you hold this here?”

With Tikki pinning the mask in place, Marinette reaches behind her head, using her hands to lift her hair out of the way, and ties the mask tight against the back of her head. That done, she lets her hair fall back against her neck, covering most of the fabric ties.

She smiles at Tikki in the mirror. “You know, I’m glad the Ladybug mask is magic. If I had to fight in a mask like this, I’d constantly be worried about it falling off.”

“Do you want a mask more like this one?” Tikki offers. “It’s very pretty.”

“No, no,” Marinette says with a laugh. “I like the simple design we have now.”

Actually, she has contemplated redesigning the Ladybug suit, but if she’s going to make a new one, she wants to take her time and do it right. In the past few months alone, she’s gone through dozens of designs trying to create the perfect suit, and none of them have felt like _the one_ yet. It might be a few months or even a year before she manages a successful redesign.

Left with nothing else to do, Marinette grabs her purse for the evening. It's a small pink bag that she bought online, since she didn't have time to make her own; as a result, it’s a little smaller than the bag she wears to school, and probably not as comfortable. But Tikki’s assured her that she and a few macarons can fit inside, which is really all that matters. 

Then Marinette grabs her shoes—strappy burgundy heels, also store-bought—and carries them over to the trapdoor. With her legendary clumsiness, there’s no way she’s attempting those stairs in heels like that.

Tikki phases into the bag as Marinette descends through the trapdoor and creeps barefoot down the stairs. Once she's downstairs, her parents jump up from the couch and meet her at the bottom of the steps.

“Oh, Marinette,” Sabine says. “You look lovely.”

“My daughter is talented _and_ beautiful!” Tom exclaims. He opens his arms to hug her, then seems to think better of it. “Excited for your date with Chat Noir? You know, I still think things could work out between the two of you—”

“Tom,” Sabine chides. “They’re going as friends.”

“Well, I still haven’t quite forgiven that boy for breaking my daughter’s heart, anyway,” Tom says. Sabine and Marinette roll their eyes; in the months following the Papa Garou incident, Tom Dupain has had nothing but good things to say about Chat Noir. “He had better be careful tonight.”

“Papa!” Marinette says. “Don’t be mean. Chat is doing me a huge favor. I wouldn’t have a date if it wasn’t for him.”

Tom grips Marinette’s shoulders, fixing her with one of his _serious looks._ They always make him look a little like he’s about to sneeze. “And don’t you let him hold that over you. If he tries to take advantage of you—”

“Papa,” Marinette says. “You know he won’t. Chat is a gentleman. I’m completely safe with him.”

Just then, someone knocks on the door to the apartment. Marinette yelps and jumps in surprise.

“You don’t look like you feel safe,” Tom says, squinting at her.

“She’s just nervous,” Sabine says. “Marinette, go ahead and answer the door. We’ll be in the kitchen.” With strength that could only come from lifting so many bags of flour every day, she drags her husband to the other side of the apartment, smiling reassuringly at Marinette.

Scowling, Tom plants himself beside the microwave in the corner and sternly watches Marinette as she tiptoes over to the front door.

Marinette hesitates, taking a deep breath to calm herself. _You can do this. It’s just Chat Noir, your partner and best friend. What’s there to be worried about?_

Clinging to that thought for confidence, she swings the door open, and—

Oh. Oh, god. She was _not_ prepared for him to look this good.

Marinette can’t believe her eyes. Somehow, Chat really did manage to find clothes that are the exact same colors as her dress. The bulk of his outfit is burgundy: he’s wearing a slim-fit suit with matching waistcoat and pants, the buttons a gray so dark that they’re almost black. Underneath the suit is a blush pink shirt, collar crisp and top two buttons undone. It makes the look a bit uneven, almost informal, but it’s so quintessentially Chat that Marinette doesn’t even question it.

And when Marinette sees the bronze skin of his throat peeking out from that shirt, she feels a little like fanning herself. The outfit is hardly more scandalous than his skin-tight black catsuit, and yet he seems so exposed like this—with his neck entirely bared, his hands ungloved, his eyes…

His _eyes._ Marinette’s mouth falls open when she looks up and meets his gaze. It’s not the suit’s magic: they really are that green. “Green,” she stupidly says.

Chat blinks. It occurs to Marinette that this is the longest he’s ever gone without talking. “I—what?” He glances down at his outfit, as if he’s checking to make sure that he didn’t wear green instead of burgundy.

“No!” Marinette says, which makes even less sense. “I mean, yes. You—yes. Your eyes are green.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”

“Flowers!” Chat exclaims, and Marinette feels stems and petals being shoved into her arms. Her eyes fly open, and she grabs them as best she can while continuing to hold onto her shoes. “I brought flowers.”

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Marinette tucks the bouquet into the crook of her elbow. She counts a dozen pink roses and tries to pretend there’s not a blush spreading across her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you.”

“Your company is gift enough, princesse,” Chat says, oddly devoid of puns. He taps the mask he’s wearing—it’s a simpler version of Marinette’s, lacking flowers or feathers, but with the same pink-and-burgundy palette. “And you did give me this mask, so…thanks.”

Marinette nods, still taking in Chat’s appearance. Now that she’s had time to really look at him, it occurs to her that Chat isn’t wearing some off-the-rack suit. His clothing is definitely tailored to fit him, and what’s more, she’s ninety-percent sure it’s a designer brand. How did he _afford_ that? Is he secretly some rich business tycoon’s son?

And yet, despite his clearly expensive outfit, Chat maintains the same laid-back charm as always. His hair isn’t perfectly coiffed or stiffly sprayed—it tumbles down in loose blond curls, softer than his usual Chat Noir look, but just as messy and imprecise. In fact, between the unruly hair and unbuttoned shirt, his look _would_ be downright sinful…except his eyes are wide and he’s blushing a shade of red that rivals his suit.

Marinette clears her throat. “Um, you look—”

“Amazing,” Chat interrupts. “I mean— _you_ look amazing, is what I was going to say. You…uh, wow.” He rubs the back of his neck. Marinette’s never seen him this shy. “Sorry. I knew you were pretty, but…” He swallows. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Marinette repeats, dazed. “And you—you managed to match me! I guess you weren’t kidding about your wardrobe.”

Chat laughs awkwardly. “No. Unfortunately not.”

“You look great,” Marinette adds. She can feel her face blazing with a blush, though at least she’s not alone in that. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, given your…usual attire.”

Chat raises an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to wear a black leather suit? If so, chérie, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Laughing, Marinette shakes her head. “No! No, not at all. But, well…” She hesitates. “Those are designer clothes, right?”

“Ah.” Chat shrugs. “Well, yeah. I’m…”

“Rich?”

“A tiny bit?” Chat says, looking like a cat that just got thrown off the bed. With a sigh, he adds, “Yeah, I am. And my family—ah, my family takes being well-dressed very seriously. I have more formalwear than I know what to do with.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing, but Marinette sends a small prayer to the heavens for bestowing Chat with clothes that he wears so well. Then she curses those same heavens for making her think something like that, because while she’s always known her partner was attractive, she’s never actually been _actively attracted to him._ Chat looks far too good in those clothes. He needs to get out of them.

Wait. No. Wrong thought. Chat’s clothes need to stay _on_ , because otherwise he’ll be naked. And that’s bad. Right? Marinette can’t remember why that's bad, but she’s pretty sure it is. 

“Well,” Marinette says, desperately trying not to think about undressing her partner. “It’s a good thing you get to make use of all those—”

“Marinette,” her mother calls. “Why don’t you let him come inside? Let’s see the two of you.”

“Of course!” Marinette says, jumping out of the way. She waves Chat inside and watches as he creeps into the apartment, almost like he’s afraid.

“Chat Noir,” Tom says, brow furrowed. He’s moved to stand by the living room couch, where he looms imposingly over Chat.

Oh. That’s why.

Chat’s posture goes rigid. “Monsieur Dupain! Ah, g-good to see you again. I’m happy I have the chance to—”

“You cleaned up nicely,” Tom says. “That means you’re taking this seriously. Good.”

“O-of course!” Chat says, waving his hands in front of him. “I would never—”

“You’ve toyed with my daughter’s heart before, you know.”

“I…don’t think I have.” Chat glances at Marinette. His wide eyes silently beg for help. “I mean, really, I was pretty straightforward last time—but, ah, if I caused any hurt feelings, I’m sorry. Marinette only deserves the best.”

Those five words seem to be the magic ones, because Tom’s expression instantly softens. Throwing his arms wide, he says, “Come here.”

“Oh—ah, I—that isn’t necessary—”

Marinette can only laugh helplessly as Chat is swept up in a hug by her father. His eyes flick over to her, searching, and she nods. Tentatively, he returns the hug with a light pat on her father’s back.

When Tom releases him, Chat clears his throat. “Ah. So…”

“You look very handsome, Chat,” Sabine offers. “I’m impressed that you managed to match Marinette’s outfit so last-minute.” She notices the bouquet in Marinette’s arms. “And you brought flowers, too. That’s kind of you.”

“Ah, merci, Madame Cheng,” Chat says, fidgeting.

Marinette frowns as she hands the flowers off to her mother. Is Chat not used to compliments? She’s always jokingly withheld praise from Chat on the grounds that that his ego probably gets fed enough, but he’s responding like he’s never been complimented before.

Her mother smiles warmly. “You can call me Sabine. And Tom is fine for my husband.”

“Hm,” Tom says. “I think I prefer Monsieur Dupain, for now.”

“Of course, Monsieur Dupain,” Chat says. He leans over and stage-whispers in Marinette’s ear, “How am I doing?”

Marinette giggles. “He’s just giving you a hard time because he likes you.”

“That remains to be decided,” Tom says, squinting at Chat, but there’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

Chat sighs in relief. “Thank goodness. I don’t want your parents to hate me.”

“You know, you two do make a good-looking pair,” Tom says. “I wonder—”

“Papa!” Marinette says. “Chat and I aren’t dating!”

If she was Ladybug right now, her partner would chime in with a cheeky _yet_. As it is, she’s Marinette, so Chat just stands next to her with a strained grin plastered on his face.

“All right, all right,” Tom says, though he doesn’t look like he’s giving up. “Now, how about a picture?” From his pocket, he produces a digital camera, which looks comically small in his large hands. “Say _ouisti—_ ”

“Wait!” Marinette says, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. “No, we can’t. We need as little evidence as possible of me and Chat going to the dance together.”

Chat rests his elbow on Marinette’s shoulder, essentially using her as an armrest. “But princesse, I haven’t been to a school dance before, much less a masquerade. At least take a picture for me.”

Exasperated, Marinette turns to him—only to see that he’s pouting. The stupid cat is _pouting_ , and damn those sparkly green eyes that make it so difficult to say no. “Chat,” Marinette says, “you can’t have a picture of us. What if someone sees civilian you with it? How will you explain a picture of you and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, when she supposedly took Charles-from-out-of-town to the dance?”

“We’re wearing masks,” he points out. “They won’t know it’s you.”

“It’s too risky,” Marinette insists.

Chat rolls his eyes. “You sound like Ladybug.” Then he shrugs, smirking. “But…alright. I guess you’ll just have to keep the picture for me. I’ll stop by and visit if I ever want to see it.”

Marinette looks to her mother for backup, but all Sabine says is, “A picture won’t hurt, dear.”

“Then it’s settled!” her father says, holding up the camera. “Marinette, move closer to Chat. You’re not in the frame.”

With a soft smile, Chat extends his arm and beckons Marinette over. Returning the smile and fighting her rising blush, Marinette slides over and presses her body against his. Chat’s arm instantly wraps around her waist, fingers featherlight against her hips, and Marinette leans into the touch despite herself, barely resisting the urge to rest her head against his shoulder.

Merde, what’s wrong with her? She’s been this close to Chat Noir before. They’ve caught each other, carried each other, even accidentally groped each other—this shouldn’t be anything new. Marinette thinks back to Glaciator, when she’d held Chat like this and pretended to be his lover. She didn’t feel anything _then_ , did she?

Wait…did she?

“Marinette,” Tom says. “I need a smile!”

Chat mutters something that sounds like _it’s not often I get to smile for pictures_ , but Marinette figures she’s misheard. “Sorry, papa!” she says. “I got distracted.”

“Is that my fault?” Chat teases.

“No,” Marinette says, a little too quickly.

She presses her hand to the small of his back and smiles, relishing the little jolt that goes through Chat at her touch. _Ha,_ she thinks. _So I’m not the only one who’s affected._

Once Tom has taken a couple dozen pictures—and before he can take a couple dozen more—Sabine shoos Marinette and Chat toward the door. “Have fun, you two.”

“Chat Noir,” Tom says. “One last thing.”

Chat freezes, his hand hovering centimeters from the front door. “Ah…yes?”

“Try any funny business, and you’ll be _Chatré_ Noir.”

“Papa!” Marinette says.

“Y-yes, sir.” Visibly paling, Chat grabs Marinette’s wrist and tugs her out the door. From the safety of the hallway, he calls out, “Bonsoir, everyone!”

Sabine starts to reprimand Tom, but then the door falls shut, muting her words.

In the silence of the hallway, Chat turns to Marinette. “I changed my mind,” he says.

“About what?” Marinette asks. “Going to the dance?”

“No.” Chat gulps, staring at the apartment door as if he can still see her father. “But I _detest_ puns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  marron – brown  
> le Hibou Noir – Dark Owl  
> ouistiti – French equivalent of “say cheese!”  
> chatré – neutered, castrated  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Marinette has taken all of three steps toward the staircase when Chat stops her.

“Hold on,” he says. “Let me help with your dress.”

Slowly, Marinette turns around. “Help with…what?”

Chat points at her, his brow furrowed, as if he’s confused about why _she’s_ confused. “Your zipper? It’s partly undone. I guess you couldn’t reach it on your own?”

“No, I—I already got it!” she says. Wait, did Tikki not zip it up the whole way? After explicitly making a joke about Chat zipping it up instead?

Is this a _setup?_

Marinette feels the back of her neck, sure that Chat is somehow mistaken—only to find that the top of her dress is, in fact, undone. “Mon dieu,” she says, her face unreasonably warm. “I…I guess I didn’t.”

Chat laughs good-naturedly. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry, I know how a zipper works. May I?”

With a nod, Marinette turns, lifting her hair out of the way for him. His hand braces against her back, holding the fabric down, and she tries not to shiver. She can feel his skin on hers through the lace, soft and warm and…oh, she will _definitely_ have words with Tikki later.

His movements painfully slow, Chat tugs the zipper up her neck. Marinette can’t tell if he’s taking his time on purpose or just being careful with her dress; normally, she’d think it was the former, but considering she’s Marinette right now, it might actually be the latter. She closes her eyes and tries not to combust.

“Okay,” Chat says. “Got it.” It almost feels like his knuckles stroke the back of her neck before pulling away—but no, surely she’s imagining something like that _._ “You can let your hair back down now.”

Marinette removes her hands from beneath her hair, letting it fall against her neck once more. “Th-thank you.”

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

Marinette turns around. “Chat?”

For a split second, Marinette catches a fond look in his eyes that she thought was reserved for Ladybug. The moment their eyes meet, though, Chat jumps and makes a squeaking noise, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks are bright red beneath the mask. “Oh! Your…your dress. It’s very pretty. I meant to tell you earlier, I love the design.”

“Oh?” Marinette says, starting down the stairs. She knows she shouldn’t test him—even if Chat is impeccably dressed, it’s not like he’s a fashion expert—and yet she can’t help but ask, “What do you like about it?”

Chat falls in step beside her. To her surprise, he doesn’t hesitate or stammer when he says, “Everything. First of all, I love the guipure lace. I’ve always liked the texture it has. I mean, other types of lace are nice, but—oh, and the motif isn’t on mesh, which means that’s your skin underneath the lace, right? Very daring, princesse.”

Marinette pauses on the stairs, mouth half-open. “Uh.”

“And of course, you did an excellent job with contrast,” Chat continues. “Not only with colors—again, I love the burgundy with the blush pink—but also with textures. Like I said, the guipure has a lot of texture, and then you’ve got the smooth…is that georgette chiffon? That’s what it looks like, but I don’t really wear it much, so I’m not sure.”

Marinette knows she should say something, but she’s at a loss for words. She hadn’t expected Chat to legitimately compliment her dress—or, for that matter, actually understand anything about its design. She’s both extremely flattered and incredibly confused.

“Really, Marinette,” Chat continues, heedless of her silence. “I knew you were a good designer, but I never expected this. Did I mention I love the lace? You know, I wish more men’s clothes made use of it. You sometimes see it on the runways, but never in the mainstream. If you ever design a men’s shirt with lace, let me know. I’ll be your first buyer.”

At that, Marinette’s mouth goes dry. Chat Noir…in a lace shirt…showing off even _more_ skin? Her brain can’t handle it.

“But,” Chat says, “I’ve heard lace is hard to work with. Did you have any trouble sewing this? I mean, it looks effortless, but I can’t imagine it was easy.”

That snaps Marinette out of her daze. “Oh, no, it wasn’t. I never want to work with lace again.”

Chat grimaces. “That difficult?”

“I haven’t worked with it much, so yes,” Marinette says. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to reinsert the zipper.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Marinette glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you _want_ me to?”

“Sure,” Chat says, shrugging. “I’m curious.”

“Of course,” Marinette says. “I almost forgot about cats and curiosity.”

Chat winks. “Exactly. So, tell me about this troublesome zipper of yours.”

As they descend the stairs, Marinette rants to Chat, describing all her different attempts to insert the zipper into the dress. He nods along, his eyes bright with interest. When she gets to the part about basting and selvedges, she stops, expecting him to ask questions—but he just stares at her expectantly and waits for her to continue.

Does he actually know what she’s talking about? Or does he just not want to look stupid?

“Um,” Marinette says. “You don’t…have any questions?”

Chat pauses on the stairs, his head tilted to the side. “Not really. Is that how you fixed it, then? Basting the selvedge onto the raw seam?”

Squinting at him, Marinette slowly says, “Yes.”

“Something wrong?”

“No!” Marinette quickly says. “No, no. Just—most of my friends are usually confused when I start rambling about sewing problems. Did you actually understand any of what I just said?”

“Mostly,” Chat says. “Of course, I wouldn’t know how to do any of that myself, but I can picture what you’re describing.”

“Huh.” Marinette shakes her head as she’s forced to incorporate _Chat understands sewing terms_ into her mental compendium on him. “Anyway, uh, yes. The selvedge provided enough stability for the zipper insertion. Now I don’t have to worry about any stretching or tearing.”

“Very clever, princesse,” Chat says. “Though I’m not surprised. You’re clearly very resourceful.”

Marinette can’t help but blush at that. She’s used to Chat complimenting her with the mask on, but it’s flattering to know that he admires her just as much without it.

Part of her regrets that she can’t get to know _him_ without the mask like this—or rather, that if she does, she’ll be none the wiser. She’d be just as clueless as Chat, who currently has no idea that he’s about to take his lady to a school dance.

Marinette wonders if he’d be acting differently if he knew that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the supposed love of his life. Before, she’d always told herself that he’d never fall for her without the mask; his declarations of love were meaningless, based on a mask and not a person. Now, though, she’s not so sure. Chat certainly doesn’t mind spending time with her as a civilian. Maybe…he really does like both sides of her?

At the end of the day, though, it doesn’t matter. While Marinette cares deeply for Chat, her heart belongs to Adrien. If Chat falls for Marinette, the end result is the same: she still can’t return his affections.

And yet, to her eternal frustration, a small part of her almost _wants_ to return them. She doesn’t like seeing her chaton heartbroken. And she’s sure that if she did give him a chance, he would make her happy. How could he not? His stupid jokes and big imploring eyes never fail to tug at her heartstrings, no matter how much she pretends otherwise.

“Marinette?” Chat asks. Marinette blinks, realizing that she’s frozen at the bottom of the steps. “Are you alright? Did I do something?”

“No,” Marinette says. “N-no. I’m just…glad we get to do this.”

“Me too,” Chat says, offering a shy smile. It almost reminds Marinette of someone else—but then it occurs to her that she’s probably just used to seeing Chat with a toothy grin. He’s not usually this reserved.

Marinette clears her throat. “I’d better put on my shoes.”

She starts to sit on the stairs, but Chat grabs her arm, stopping her. “Marinette, wait. You’ll get your dress dirty if you sit down here.”

“I don’t think I can put them on while standing up,” Marinette says. “My balance isn’t that good.” Chat still doesn’t look convinced, nor does he release her arm. Marinette raises an eyebrow. “What, are you going to put them on for me?”

“Uh, maybe?”

“Chat.”

“If you’ll let me,” Chat says. “Really, I don’t mind.”

“You really take this gentleman thing seriously.”

“And the princess thing,” Chat says, winking. “What do you say, Cendrillon?”

After considering it for a moment, Marinette decides there’s no harm in indulging his chivalrous side. With a shrug, she hands him her shoes. “Fine. But keep your eyes on the ground, _prince charmant._ ”

Chat frowns. “Where else would I…oh. _Oh._ ” His eyes widen, and his face flushes its darkest shade of red yet. “No, I would—I would never! I’m—”

“I know,” Marinette says, barely holding back her laughter. “I’m just teasing.”

Brow scrunched in concentration, Chat kneels and sets the shoes by her feet, and Marinette braces her hand against the wall for balance as she lifts her left foot for him. Fingers wrapping gently around her ankle, Chat guides her foot into the shoe and deftly fastens the buckle, his touch featherlight against her skin.

It occurs to her, again, that these are his bare hands touching her skin—because he isn’t transformed right now, isn’t really Chat Noir right now. Although he’s wearing a mask, this is a normal boy in front her, not a superhero. He has a name that isn’t Chat. He has a family she’s likely never met. He probably goes to school just like she does. (He might even go to _her_ school, though she immediately discards that thought, since she’s promised herself not to speculate too much about his identity.)

But he might have passed her on the street—might have visited her parents’ bakery, or even sat on a nearby bench when she was getting ice cream at André’s. After all, once Ladybug and Chat Noir have beaten an akuma, he doesn’t just disappear. He goes back to being whoever he is under the mask. He lives in the same Paris as her, meets the same people, goes the same places.

When he’s wearing ears and a tail, it’s easy to forget that he’s not Chat Noir all the time. Now, though, when she can see the lines on his knuckles and the bones of his hands, she remembers that he’s…well, _real._

“How’s that?” Chat says, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are they too tight? Too loose?”

“They’re fine!” Marinette says, without testing the shoes. She takes a hasty step forward and immediately trips.

Swearing, Chat jumps up and catches her. His hands grip her forearms, holding her steady, and Marinette’s hands come to rest against his chest. “Sorry!” he says. “Did I fasten them wrong?”

“No, no, it’s not you.” Marinette takes a careful step back, sighing. “I’m just clumsy.”

Chat waggles his eyebrows. “Do you need me to carry you?”

Considering how flustered Marinette already is, she’s not sure she can survive having Chat _carry_ her to the dance. Is he even that strong without the suit? Part of her is curious about how easily he could support her weight…but no! Why is she even thinking about that? Those aren’t platonic thoughts!

“Th-thanks, but I’m fine,” Marinette says. “Really! I can walk. I’ll be more careful.”

“If you’re sure.” Still looking concerned, Chat holds out his arm. “But you might want to hold onto me, just in case.”

Marinette’s pride almost prevents her from holding onto Chat, but her desire to avoid a broken ankle is stronger. Smiling sheepishly, she wraps her hands around his proffered arm and takes cautious steps toward the front door.

“Should I call my—a taxi?” Chat asks. “It’s a long walk in heels.”

“A taxi?” Marinette echoes, smiling. “I thought you said you were rich. Where’s the limo?”

“Theoretically, I could get one,” Chat says. “But then I’d have to explain to my father what I plan to do with it, and, well…”

Marinette sighs. “Maybe we should get a ride.” Careful not to disturb Tikki, she retrieves her phone from her pocket and opens a ridesharing app. “Hold on.”

A minute later, after Marinette’s requested a ride and found a driver, Chat turns to her. “I forgot to mention,” he says. “I like your choice of lipstick. The bold color suits you, and not only does it match your dress, but it also contrasts nicely with your eyes—which, by the way, are lovely.”

Marinette’s cheeks burn. “You know, you don’t have to shower me in compliments just because you’re my date to the dance.”

Chat’s eyes spark with some emotion she can’t name. “That’s not why I’m doing it.” He folds his arms, frowning. “Marinette, do you know how incredible you are?”

“Do you?” she asks, a challenge behind her words. After all, Chat doesn’t know her _that_ well. He might mean well with his compliments, but when he hardly knows anything about her, he almost comes off as insincere.

Chat sighs. “I know that Chat Noir has only met you a handful of times, but trust me, I’m completely sincere. Through…certain ways, I _do_ know you well enough to say that.” He grips her shoulders, turning her to face him. “So when I say I like your dress, I mean it. When I say you’re talented and resourceful, I mean it. And when I say you’re beautiful, I really mean it, Marinette.”

Staring into those honest eyes, hearing him say those things about her, is making butterflies—the non-akuma kind—flutter in Marinette’s stomach. “Why are you saying all of this?” she asks. “You’re…you’re not in love with me.”

“I don’t think you realize how special you are,” Chat says. “That’s all.”

Oh, _that’s all?_

What kind of person casually mentions those things to someone they’ve met five or six times? What kind of person says those things and _doesn’t_ include a love confession? Not that she wants a love confession, or anything—no, definitely not, because dealing with Chat’s feelings for Ladybug is hard enough without adding Marinette to the mix. But for the life of her, she can’t figure Chat out. Every time she thinks she has, he does something confounding like this.

Just as Marinette opens her mouth to fire off a retort, her bag squirms against her side. She pauses, wondering what Tikki could want. Then she remembers her kwami’s words from earlier.

 _I think Chat Noir has trouble expressing his feelings,_ Tikki had said _. It’s clear he values you as a friend. He just needs some encouragement._

“Thank you, Chat,” Marinette says. “I appreciate it.” When he gives her a brilliant smile in return, Marinette realizes that—as usual—Tikki was right. “And you know, I’m not the only one with pretty eyes.”

“Is that so?” Chat asks, smiling.

Marinette nods. Of course, she knows that a compliment like _you have nice eyes_ barely measures up to the litany of praise he just offered her—but, well, maybe she’s not the best at expressing her feelings, either. “I didn’t realize your eyes were naturally that color. I always thought they were that shade of green due to the cat sclerae, or something.”

Chat laughs, his cheeks tinted pink. “Yeah, they’re all natural.” He winks. “And you’re not the first person to be captivated by my eyes. I’m often told that they’re my _matou charme._ ”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette asks, “Are you _also_ told that your cat puns are your worst feature? Because they definitely are.”

“That’s harsh,” Chat says, but he’s grinning. “Then again, if puns are my worst feature, I suppose I should be relieved. Tell me, princesse, is the rest of me as pretty as my eyes?”

Marinette shoves him lightly. “You know the answer to that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You know what, I take it back,” Marinette says. “Your ego is definitely your worst feature.”

Feigning a gasp, Chat says, “Princesse! No! My puns are definitely worse.” He frowns. “Wait.”

At that, Marinette starts laughing uncontrollably. “So you—you admit they’re—”

“Nothing! I admit _nothing!”_ Chat exclaims, laughing along with her. “Absolutely nothing. You’re just—you’re just jealous of my spectacular sense of humor.”

Before Marinette can respond, a blue car matching the app's description pulls up outside the bakery. “Our ride’s here,” she says, gently taking Chat’s arm. As he guides her onto the sidewalk, she smiles up at him. “And minou, there are plenty of things to envy about you…but your puns aren’t one of them.”

Despite the fact that she just insulted his puns, Chat beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indeed, thank goodness Marinette knows about selvedges…because I know nothing about them. Speaking of which, [here’s](https://didyoumakethat.com/2015/05/13/inserting-a-zip-into-lace) the source for the solution to the lace zipper problem. Since I don't know anything about sewing, I am eternally grateful to people on the internet who do.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Cendrillon – Cinderella  
> prince charmant – prince charming  
> matou – tomcat  
> atout charme – best feature; highlight  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long one...which is either good or bad, depending on how you feel about long chapters. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a place to break up the scene without interrupting the flow of things.

Thanks to the car ride, Marinette and Chat arrive at the dance twenty minutes early and end up loitering outside as they wait for seven o’clock. Some people are already inside, but Chat insists that it’s tasteless to show up that early. _And w_ _e, Marinette,_ he says, _are_ _tasteful people._ Marinette blames his rich-person upbringing, though she doesn’t argue. The twenty-minute wait gives them time to come up with a solid cover story.

First, although Marinette’s already accidentally decided that his first name is Charles, they still need a surname. After suffering several of Chat’s tongue-in-cheek suggestions—Leblanc and Bonheur, really?—she pulls up a list of surnames on her phone and starts scrolling.

“What about Bellamy?” she says.

Chat makes a face. “Why that one?”

“It’s derived from Old French. _Bel ami._ ”

“B-beautiful friend?” Chat says. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but Marinette’s fairly certain he’s blushing again. “I, uh…am I…?”

“Yes,” Marinette says. “Let’s go with that one, then.”

Chat makes a sound between a whine and a squeak. It’s a little cute.

Ultimately, they decide that “Charles” and Marinette met four years ago when his family visited Paris during the month of July. He came to her bakery almost every day, so the two ended up spending a lot of time together. When it came time for him to leave, they exchanged information and became pen pals, and the two have been in touch ever since. It’s simple, straightforward, and impossible to disprove.

“Now we just need to decide where you’re from,” Marinette says.

“Lyon,” Chat immediately says. “Please, let me have one cat pun.”

Marinette gives him a flat stare. “You want to tell my friends you drove five hours for my school dance?”

“I’m a very devoted friend,” Chat says, winking. “Also, I’ve been to Lyon enough times that I can lie about being from there.”

“Fine.” Huffing, Marinette scans the notes she’s taken on her phone. “Where we met, when we met, how often we talk…did we forget anything?”

Chat shrugs. “We can make up anything else as needed.”

Marinette’s head snaps up. “Quoi? No, we need a detailed plan.”

“Princesse, the time for detailed plans is past. We’ve got…” Chat checks his watch. “Two minutes until the dance starts. But don’t worry. I’m a good liar, grâce à having a secret identity.”

“Please don’t make up anything too crazy.”

Chat snorts. “As fun as that would be, I’m not interested in exposing myself. Imagine what would happen if Alya Césaire found out that Chat Noir is at her school dance.”

“Ooh,” Marinette says, nudging him in the ribs. “Maybe you can give her an exclusive interview.”

“I don’t want to spend _exclusive_ time with Alya,” Chat says. “Tonight, you’re the only girl I have eyes for.”

 _Until you go back to Ladybug,_ Marinette thinks. But what she says out loud is, “Very pretty eyes, I might add.”

“You already used that one, ma chère,” Chat says. “If you’re going to repeat a compliment, at least add a pun. Tell me that my eyes _chat-_ oient comme les étoiles.”

Marinette makes a gagging noise. “Am I taking a boy to the dance, or a joke book?”

“Possibly both.” Chat rests his hand against Marinette’s back. “Are you ready to go in?”

Nodding, Marinette follows him inside. The masquerade is being hosted in the same part of the hotel as the party that ended with the akumatization of Chloé’s butler, though Marinette desperately hopes there won’t be an akuma this time. She wants to have fun and spend time with her friends, not fight a supervillain.

“It was nice of Chloé to offer the hotel as a location,” Chat comments.

“I guess,” Marinette says. “It’s definitely better than the school courtyard.”

Then they reach the room where the dance is being held, and Chat murmurs, “ _Definitely_ better than a school courtyard.”

The walls are draped in violet and royal blue fabric that covers up the maroon wallpaper, and throughout the room, black and silver are used as accent colors to create the effect of a rich night sky. Elaborate flower arrangements in the same colors are set up along the perimeter of the room, along with black-clothed tables bearing stacks of treats. And as dusk falls, red sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a fiery glow on the floor.

Marinette knows this is just a room in a hotel, but tonight, the entire space feels enchanted, ethereal. “It’s beautiful,” she says.

“Then you’ll fit right in,” Chat responds.

Scoffing, Marinette scans the space for her friends. Going off their outfit descriptions at lunch, she manages to spot Alya, Rose, Juleka, and Alix at the bar in the back, along with two boys who must be Alix’s date and Nino.

Juleka looks right at home in her black and violet dress, as does Rose in her bubblegum pink outfit. Meanwhile, Alix actually wears a suit better than her date does; the slender lapels and lines of the suit make her short athletic shape seem taller, and the masculine style goes well with her angular face and spiky hair. Marinette wishes she could pull off that sort of look, but she’s nowhere near that bold.

Then there’s Alya’s dress, which is a bold orange with maroon accents. While the color choice could be a reference to her Rena Rouge costume, Alya might have just chosen it because she looks good in orange. The bodycon style of the dress fits her body shape perfectly, and Marinette makes a mental note to use that cut that if she ever designs a dress for her best friend.

When Marinette sees Nino’s outfit, though, she barely suppresses a snort. He’s wearing an emerald green blazer with black dress pants, which looks fantastic on him—but between his and Alya’s outfits, there’s no doubt they’re imitating their superhero suits.

“Are you ready for introductions?” Marinette asks Chat.

“You mean, am I ready to charm your friends?” Chat says. “Of course.”

As they approach the bar, Alya looks up, fingers pinched around a strawberry she’s just plucked from her drink. It _plops_ back into the glass when she sees them. “Is that…Marinette, is that you?”

Marinette nods. “It’s me. So, what do you—”

“Girl, you look gorgeous!” Alya says. “Come on, let’s see a twirl.”

Perhaps because he knows about her horrible balance, Chat takes her hand and holds it up. Laughing, Marinette turns in a circle, showing off the dress from all angles.

As she does, Chat whispers, “Do you think she’ll ask for an _entrechat_ next?”

“You’re horrible,” Marinette hisses. Not only for the cat pun, but also for even suggesting that she has the coordination required to perform a ballet leap. No, definitely not without a superhero suit.

After the chorus of appreciation for her design has died down, Alya says, “Seriously, Marinette, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Chat leans over and murmurs, “I would recognize your beauty anywhere, princesse.”

“Flirt,” Marinette mutters. Not to mention that he has, in fact, failed to recognize her as Ladybug—though that’s probably for the best.

Done with Marinette, Alya zeroes in on Chat. “And who’s this? Charles, right?” She whips her phone out of her bag, fingers poised above the screen. “Last name?”

“Bellamy,” Chat says, as if he gives the name every day.

After a few seconds of tapping, Alya says, “I see a few on Facebook. But none of these look like you.”

“I don’t have any social media,” Chat says. “Just texting.”

Alya whistles. “You’re a rare breed, for someone our age.” Still dangling her phone from her fingers, she folds her arms. “All right, _Monsieur Bellamy._ How do you and Marinette know each other?”

“Alya,” Marinette says, even though they’ve prepared a story. “Don’t interrogate him. He’s my date for the dance, not a murder suspect.”

“It’s fine,” Chat says. “I’m happy to recount the story of how we met.”

Marinette groans as he launches into a description of their supposed first meeting. He sticks to the story they’ve designed, though he can’t help but add a few flourishes; Marinette scowls aggressively when he recounts how she apparently dropped macarons everywhere the first time she saw him, but she keeps her mouth shut to avoid destroying his credibility. And of course, being Chat, he tells the story with such a dramatic flair that her face is burning by the end. It sounds less like the story of how two ten-year-olds became friends and more like the opening of a romantic comedy.

“That’s so sweet!” Rose says, when he’s finished talking. Juleka mumbles something in agreement.

“So you don’t live in Paris, mec?” Nino asks.

“No,” Chat says. “Lyon, actually. I’ve visited Paris a few times since then, but not recently.”

“Have you witnessed any akuma attacks?” Alya asks. “You’ve at least heard about those, right?”

“Oh, certainly,” Chat says. “I’ve seen your blog, Mademoiselle Césaire. In fact, I’m a big fan. But fortunately, I haven’t been here for any akumas.”

“Hm.” Alya’s eyes glint behind her glasses. “Well, Charles, maybe if you’re lucky, there will be one tonight. Then you’d get to see Ladybug and Chat Noir up close, in action!”

“Alya!” Marinette says. “That’s not _lucky._ That’s the opposite of lucky! That’s—”

“I’m with Marinette,” Chat says. “As much as I’d like to see Ladybug and Chat Noir—especially Chat Noir, I mean, he’s très cool, don’t you—” He breaks off when Marinette jabs him in the ribs. “Ah, that is, I’d prefer our night to be uninterrupted, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Alix says. “I could do without an akuma attack.” 

“It took me over five hours to get here,” Chat adds. “It would be a waste if an akuma ruined this dance.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alya says. “Lyon’s definitely not nearby. You came pretty far to be Marinette’s date, huh?”

“But of course,” Chat says. Before she can stop him, he lifts Marinette’s hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to her skin. “You’re worth the effort.”

Marinette’s exceedingly grateful for the room’s dim lighting; it hides the permanent flush in her cheeks. “You just came for the free food,” she says, withdrawing her hand.

“Au contraire,” Chat responds. “I came for the good company.” He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against his side. “And the dancing. I hope you’re a good dancer?”

“You saw how easily I tripped earlier,” Marinette says. “As long as my feet are touching the ground, I’m a danger to myself and others.”

“I suppose I’ll have to sweep you off your feet, then.”

Marinette starts to respond, but Alya interrupts. “Marinette,” she sings.

“Wh-what?”

Smirking, Alya says, “Looks like you have a type.”

“I—no, I don’t—”

“Marinette,” Chat says, eyes gleaming. “There’s not another devastatingly gorgeous blond you like, is there?”

“No!” Marinette practically yells. _Oh, no. No, please don’t let Chat find out that I have a crush on—_

“There certainly _is,_ ” Alya says gleefully.

“Alya!” Marinette says. Her voice is lost beneath Rose’s giggling and Alix’s cackling. “Charles and I are just here as friends! We’re not dating. So you can’t use him as an example of my romantic type.”

“Oh, good,” Alix says. “Because you were just going on and on this morning about how you’re still definitely in love with Adrien.”

Chat starts coughing loudly, as if he’s somehow choked on his own breath. “Agreste?” he wheezes.

Marinette glances at him, surprised. She’d expected her partner to tease her about her crush—but no, Chat looks like he’s just been slapped in the face.

“Yeah,” Alix says. “Pretty much everyone in Paris knows that.”

“Well,” Chat says, still looking stricken. “I—I—am not from Paris.”

“Marinette,” Alya says. “Didn’t you tell Charles how you wanted to ask Adrien to the dance?”

A nervous giggle bubbles from Marinette’s lips. “It…ah…didn’t come up?”

“Does…” Chat coughs again. “Does Adrien know?”

“No,” Nino says. “The dude’s oblivious. I’d tell him, but…I mean, if he’s that dense, he kind of deserves it?”

“I thought she had a crush on someone else!” Chat says. He clears his throat, then says more calmly, “So, ah, maybe he thought she had a crush on someone else?”

Alya squints at him for a moment, but then she glances at Juleka and her expression clears. “Oh, yeah. I could see why he’d think that.”

“I don’t know.” Nino shrugs, an eyebrow raised above his emerald-green mask. “Marinette’s pretty obvious about her crush, and that’s coming from me. Look, I love Adrien, but admit it—he’s blind. Unless Marinette flat out confesses to him, he’s never going to notice.”

Chat glares—wait, _glares?_ —at Marinette. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“Well, ah, you know!” Marinette says, flailing her arms. “It’s not that easy to confess to someone, and I…I’m, uh…shy.”

Immediately, she’s the target of seven dubious stares—which is kind of impressive, since Alix’s date has never met her and is _still_ looking at her like she’s Pinocchio.

“Papa Garou?” Chat hisses, eyes narrowed.

Marinette feels the blood drain from her face. Right. _That_. A few months ago, she’d blurted out a love confession to Chat with zero hesitation—but only because it had been a _fake_ love confession, which Chat isn’t supposed to know. If she was confessing her love to him for real, she has no doubt she’d be as tongue-tied as she is around Adrien.

Or maybe not. She’s always been so comfortable around Chat. Even if she returned his affections, she can’t imagine getting that flustered around him. Then again, she wouldn’t have to worry about him saying _no._ With Adrien, that’s her perpetual fear: that he’ll laugh at her, reject her, never want to speak to her again.

Marinette sighs. “Can we talk about this later?”

Instantly, Chat’s expression softens. “Of course. I’m sorry, Marinette, I was just surprised. I won’t pry.”

“Ooh, handsome _and_ respectful,” Alya says. “Girl, he’s a keeper.”

“Alya,” Marinette groans.

“Alas,” Chat says, “if the lady’s heart belongs to another, my efforts to woo her are pour du beurre. But I hope she’ll at least keep me for tonight.”

“Anyway!” Marinette squeaks, before he can say anything else embarrassing. “Charles, let me introduce you to everyone…”

Trying to keep her voice from rising an octave, she goes around the circle and “introduces” him to each of her friends. Granted, he’s met all of them before thanks to akuma attacks, and for all Marinette knows, he might even know some of them as a civilian. After all, he did mention having friends at Françoise Dupont. But as far as her _friends_ are aware, they’ve never met Charles Bellamy, and so Marinette pretends that they haven’t.

Once that’s out of the way, she turns to the bar, intending to drown herself in some punch. That plan is foiled when Chat grabs her shoulder and leans in close. “Marinette,” he says, breath tickling her ear.

Marinette tries to ignore the fact that her heartbeat just stuttered. “Yes, Cha— _Charles?”_

“Would you like to dance?”

Whirling around to face him, Marinette asks, “Are you kidding?”

Chat frowns. “No? I want to dance with you. Is…is that a problem?”

“That’s not the problem,” Marinette says. “The problem is that I have two left feet. You know that. I know that. Everyone here knows that.”

“It’s true,” Alix offers. “She’s legendarily clumsy.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Chat says.

“What?” Marinette scoffs. “You saw me trip over nothing earlier! How can you—”

“You know,” Alya whispers, poking Marinette in the side. “I think you might be less _clumsy_ if you had a handsome man to catch you. You know?”

“A handsome man?” Marinette repeats flatly. She feigns glancing around the room. “And where would I find one of those?”

“That’s cold, princesse,” Chat says, though he sounds unbothered. “When I even went to the trouble of finding a _matching outfit_ at the last—”

“Okay!” Marinette exclaims, if only to stop him from letting slip that twenty-four hours ago, she still didn’t have a date for the dance. “Come on, let’s go! Lots of dancing to be done.”

She grabs Chat’s arm and drags him toward the dance floor. With a yelp, he stumbles after her. “Marinette—”

“So.” Marinette plants her hands on her hips. “Here we are. Dancing. Having fun.”

“Uh, actually, you’re just standing there.”

Marinette glances away. “Well.”

“Wait,” Chat says, and Marinette can _hear_ the mischief in his voice. “Are you afraid of dancing?”

“I am most certainly not afraid,” Marinette says. “Just…reluctant. Because of my clumsiness.”

“Never fear,” Chat says. “You’ve got a moderately-handsome superhero to catch you if you stumble. I promise, you won’t fall when you’re dancing with me.”

“Moderately handsome?” Marinette repeats in disbelief. “Are you fishing for compliments or something?”

“Well, you said to Alya—”

“I was _kidding!”_ Marinette snaps. “Anyone with eyes can see that you’re one of the sexiest guys in Paris!”

The moment the words are out, she clamps her mouth shut. Oh, no. No, she did _not_ just say that out loud. She said that in her head. She definitely didn’t tell Chat to his face that she thinks he’s sexy. She doesn’t even think that, does she? He’s her partner. Her very good-looking partner who parades around in skintight leather that perfectly highlights all of his assets. But that doesn’t mean she thinks he’s sexy!

“Um.” Chat appears to have frozen in place. “I…uh. Sexiest…in Paris?”

“No, I said _one of_ …the sexiest…oh, merde.” Marinette buries her face in her hands. That clarification definitely isn’t enough to save her.

“And, uh.” Chat clears his throat. “Who’s the other? Is it Adri—”

“No! I mean, yes, of course, Adrien is super se—I mean, uh, I meant you have a sexy _personality!”_ Marinette says. Her face is face burning hotter than a desert. “Because you’re kind, and brave, and that’s…um…”

“S-sure,” Chat says. It doesn’t sound like he believes her.

Marinette’s shoulders slump. “I—I mean—oh, come on! That can’t be the first time you’ve heard that!”

Chat blushes. “N-no. But it’s the first time I’ve heard it from someone who matters.” He rubs his neck, looking more bashful that Marinette’s ever seen him. Once again, it reminds her of someone else, but she can’t remember who.

She doesn’t dwell on that too much, though, mostly because she’s stuck on what Chat Noir just said. If he’s constantly being told he’s good-looking and it means nothing to him—if the people saying it don’t matter—does that mean no one he cares about ever tells him how amazing he is?

His words from the night before come back to her: _Without the mask, people tend to just like me for my looks, I think._

“Well—you—don’t you forget it!” Marinette says, jabbing a finger against his chest.

Chat blinks. “Huh?”

“And you’re not just one of the hottest guys in Paris,” Marinette continues, incensed. “You’re the sweetest, bravest, most loyal person I know, and if people don’t tell you that every day, then there’s something seriously wrong with them!”

Slack-jawed, Chat says, “Uh, Marinette, p-people are—”

“And I don’t _care_ if people are staring at me,” Marinette adds, realizing that people are, in fact, staring at her. “I’ll embarrass myself in front of the entire city if it means telling you how amazing you are.” She huffs indignantly. “Now. You wanted to dance?”

“I…” Chat shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Yeah. Uh, come on.”

He leads her to an uninhabited corner of the room, probably so that no one can judge her terrible dancing. As they walk, the sound of a violin soars over the crowd, and Marinette realizes for the first time that there’s a bona fide string quartet at the dance.

“Who hires a string quartet to play for a bunch of collégiens?” she asks.

Chat shrugs. “The Bourgeois family, apparently.”

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” Marinette says, laughing. “A string quartet is too classy for me.”

“It’s true, you look out of place,” Chat agrees. “But only because you’re too elegant for a room full of sweaty teenagers.”

“Sure,” Marinette mutters, though by now she’s learned that Chat really means all of his compliments. She’s still not sure how she feels about that. “So, Monsieur Bellamy. What dance moves are you going to teach me tonight?”

“Hm,” Chat says. “I was thinking we could start with un grand jeté, then move into jazz barrel turns, maybe finish with the noventa salsa move. How does that sound?”

“What.” It sounds absurd, and yet he said it so seriously that Marinette can’t tell if he’s joking.

“Is that a problem?” Chat asks. “You know, those are pretty basic dance moves. I’m guessing most people here can do them.”

_“What.”_

After a moment, Chat’s stern face slips and he bursts into laughter. “I’m kidding, Marinette. Do you know how to do a waltz box step? Let’s start with that.”

Grumbling, Marinette watches as he demonstrates the step. Before she can try it, though, he wraps one of his arms around her, the warmth of his hand pressing against her upper back. With his other hand, he clasps hers and extends their joined arms to the side.

“Wait! What are you doing?” Marinette asks. “Shouldn’t I try the step on my own first?”

“If you recall, I promised I wouldn’t let you fall while we’re dancing.” Chat’s teeth peek through his lips in a smile. “Put your free hand on my shoulder first, and then you can try the step.”

Tentatively, Marinette steps back and to the side, trying to replicate Chat’s movement from before. He follows her without hesitation, and she repeats the movement going forward. It’s surprisingly easy.

“We’re just…walking,” Marinette says, continuing the steps as Chat guides her in a circle. “This isn’t dancing.”

“Actually, it is,” Chat says. “And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

“People are staring.”

“Captivated by your beauty and grace, I’m sure.”

“Does this get more exciting?”

Chat rotates their bodies, forcing Marinette to turn with him as she completes the steps. “Like that?”

“I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

Raising his eyebrows, Chat says, “Is that so?”

Marinette tilts her chin up. “I’m clumsy, not incompetent. What else have you got?”

Chat waits for her to complete half a box step, then stops her. “How do you feel about turns?”

He drops his right hand and talks her through the steps, and after a few minutes of practice, Marinette has gained a shaky grasp on underarm turns. Satisfied, Chat shows her some sort of chassé step—accompanied, of course, by a bad pun about how cats are _chasseurs_. Marinette wants to slap him for that one, but she’s too afraid she’ll trip in the process.

Then Chat demonstrates a maneuver he calls a _whisk._

“A whisk _?”_ Marinette echoes, incredulous. She mimes beating eggs. “Like…in baking?”

Chat shrugs. “I didn’t name it.” He winks. “On the bright side, thanks to all your baking experience, you should have no trouble with this step!”

Unsurprisingly, proficiency with kitchen whisks does not translate to dancing whisks. On her third attempt at the step, Marinette’s ankle rolls and she nearly topples backwards. Immediately, Chat’s hand goes to her lower back, steadying her.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I think that’s enough waltzing,” she says shakily.

“How about the grapevine?”

Marinette snorts. “Even _I_ know that one.”

After that, Chat teaches her a promenade turn, which he thinks might be a tango step, but can’t say for sure—tango or not, it ends with Marinette over-rotating and practically throwing herself at Chat to regain her balance. Apparently unsatisfied with that failure, he then tries to get her to perform a swing step. This time, Marinette ends up stepping on her own feet and hopping in pain, which in turn leads her to flail sideways. Chat practically dives to the ground in order to catch her in time.

But he does catch her. Every time, without fail, that stubborn cat keeps her from falling.

Having abandoned the swing step, Marinette lets go of Chat. “Anything else?” she asks, struggling to catch her breath. Without a body to hold onto, she suddenly feels like she could fall over at any second.

“Actually,” Chat says, “I’m afraid I’ve taught you every move I know. I’ve never been formally trained—I just picked up random moves over the years. There’s always some rich family’s daughter who I’m supposed to dance with, you know?”

No, Marinette didn’t know, but she’s getting increasingly concerned about Chat’s civilian life. He’s _supposed_ to dance with rich girls? What else is he supposed to do? How much control does he actually have over his own life?

Squashing her anxiety for the time being, Marinette laughs. “No more dance moves?” she asks. “And here I thought you were an expert, monsieur.”

“Non, mademoiselle,” Chat says. “I just like dancing. Especially with you.”

Marinette likes dancing with Chat, too—not that she’s going to admit that out loud. She already accidentally told the guy he was sexy.

“Thank you, Chat,” she says. “You’re a good teacher.”

Chat gives her a small smile. “Really, Marinette, you’re not as clumsy as you say you are. I think you just throw your weight around a lot, which makes it easier for you to lose your balance.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re actually quite graceful when you dance.”

Marinette tries not to think about that too much—about the fact that when she’s with Chat, she feels perfectly balanced. It’s not that odd. He _is_ her partner, after all. Of course she feels safe and secure around him.

“O-oh, I don’t know,” Marinette says. “That’s probably only because you were leading!”

“Actually, I let you lead a few times. You didn’t notice?”

“What?” Marinette exclaims. “Why would you do that?”

Chat shrugs. “It felt right.”

That makes Marinette wonder if Chat feels it, too: the give-and-take that makes them work so well as a superhero team. Even though he doesn’t know that Marinette is Ladybug, maybe he still senses that they fit together.

“Well,” Marinette says, “now I’m going to _lead_ you to the bar, because I’m dying of thirst.”

After that, the string quartet takes a break. As Marinette and Chat sip their glasses of punch and catch their breath, Trois Café Gourmands’s “À Nos Souvenirs” blares from hidden speakers. Nodding along, Chat says, “Ah, Billboard hits. Are these more to your liking, princesse?”

“At least I know songs from the radio,” Marinette says. The condensation on her glass is refreshingly cool against her hand—she hadn’t noticed until now, but she’s warm and sweaty from all the dancing she did with Chat. “I only recognized one of the songs the string quartet played.”

“I recognized most of them,” Chat says. “Then again, I’m classically trained, so…” He shrugs and takes a sip from his glass, glancing around the room.

“Oh?” Marinette raises her eyebrows. “Is Chat Noir secretly a violin virtuoso?”

“Piano,” Chat corrects, eyes still darting around. “But yes. Sort of.”

Marinette swirls her glass, watching the pink-red punch swish against the sides. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

Chat’s eyes flick over to meet hers. Once again, she’s struck by how bright they glow even without his superhero mask. “I guess I shouldn’t divulge too much personal information. But rich parents forcing their children to be musically proficient is kind of common, so—yeah.” He licks his lips, capturing a smudge of punch at the corner of his mouth. “And, you know. Learning foreign languages, going to luncheons, working for the family business. Things like that.”

Marinette stares at the lights reflected in her glass. “Merde,” she mutters. “Maybe I do have a type.”

“Hm?” Chat’s throat jumps as he swallows a sip of punch. “Oh, well. I guess that Adrien guy is pretty similar. What a coincidence, huh?” He stares at his glass for a moment, then looks up at Marinette. “Say, do I…do I remind you of him?”

Marinette’s mouth falls open, and for a moment, all she can do is stare blankly at Chat. She definitely hadn’t expected that question. Why is he asking, anyway? It can’t be that he’s jealous of her affection for Adrien—after all, as he’s constantly reminding everyone, he’s head-over-heels for Ladybug. So what possible reason could he have for asking Marinette to compare him to Adrien Agreste?

Whatever the reason, she knows she has to answer carefully. Until tonight, she’d always blindly ignored the fact that Chat’s self-esteem is fragile and capricious. Now, though, she realizes that a casual compliment or misplaced jab can completely flip his mood; his confidence ebbs and flows throughout any given conversation. With Chat, there are times to joke and times to be serious—and thanks to his chronic inability to express himself, it’s hard to tell when those times are.

Although she’s prone to quick responses, Marinette takes her time to think this one through. _Does_ Chat remind her of Adrien? Is it possible that the two boys are more alike than she realized?

“Yes,” Marinette finds herself saying. “You do. But it’s—it’s difficult, because he acts one way most of the time, and you act another.”

Chat frowns. “I do? I mean—he does? We do?”

“But _then_ there are times where he’s got your bravado, or you’ve got his sensitivity, and it’s…” Marinette sighs. “It’s confusing. I mean, I guess he always has that side, and you do, too, so you both have a side that matches the other’s, and—and—” She shakes her head, pausing to take a sip of punch. Chat’s question hurts her brain more than expected. “Yes, you do. I used to think you two were completely different, save your appearances, but now I…I actually think you’re pretty similar.”

Now, _that’s_ a weird thought. Because if Adrien and Chat are really so similar—if they both have the same features, just in varying degrees—does that mean Marinette could fall for Chat? Or fall out of love with Adrien? No, no, the latter is impossible. But something unsettles her about the fact that the boy she loves is so similar to the boy she’s been rejecting. If Chat’s qualities aren’t the reason Marinette’s been turning him down, is it simply the fact that Marinette fell in love with Adrien first? Is that really a good reason to pick one over the other?

She’s often thought that if she had never met Adrien, she’d have given Chat a chance instead. And all this time, she’s told herself this while denying the obvious conclusion to that train of thought: that to some extent, she has feelings for Chat. Feelings that came after her feelings for Adrien, but feelings nonetheless.

Hastily, Marinette gulps down the rest of her punch. Chat hasn’t said anything, which makes her wonders if he’s just as lost in thought as she is. She hopes so, or else he’s probably witnessing her silent meltdown.

Marinette sets her empty glass of punch on the bar and turns to him. “So…”

Chat’s looking at her, his gaze thick with some emotion she can’t name. Whatever it is, it makes her feel like she’s been turned inside-out. “Marinette—”

“Marinette!” a voice interrupts. “Who’s this?”

Marinette’s stomach sinks as she looks the newcomer over. If the signature hairstyle and orange-and-gray color palette weren’t a dead giveaway, there’s still no mistaking that it’s Lila Rossi. Beneath the silver mask is the same smirk, the same shrewd eyes that pick Marinette apart when no one else is looking.

“It’s definitely not Adrien,” Lila goes on. “And here I thought you were in love with him! Did you move on already? That’s too bad. You two would have been so cute together.”

“Lila,” Chat says, his voice strained.

Involuntarily, Marinette shrinks back against the bar. She knows Adrien is more or less on her side when it comes to Lila, but what about Chat? Just because he’s witnessed her lies enough times, that doesn’t mean he’ll confront her now. What if he tries to take the high road? Marinette’s not sure she can go along with that. Every bone in her body screams to fight back against Lila, to call her a liar, to tell her to back off.

“Oh,” Lila says. “Has Marinette mentioned me?”

“Once or twice,” Chat says, and this time, there’s no mistaking the hostility in his tone. “And of course, I’m rather familiar with your work.”

Lila’s plastered-on smile falters. “My work?”

“It’s a shame you can’t put _part-time akuma_ on your resume,” Chat says. “Because really, you’re quite talented at it. And the way you assisted Oni-chan a few weeks ago, when you yourself weren’t even akumatized? Very effective, Mademoiselle Rossi. Papillon almost won that round. I mean, I’ve heard of everyday heroes, but—well, I guess that means there are everyday villains too, non?”

Marinette’s hand flies to her mouth. Whatever she expected Chat to say, it wasn’t that. He sounds furious.

Lila blinks rapidly, and her smile twitches. “Oh, that? No, you’re mistaken! I was trying to help Ladybug and Chat Noir. It was part of a secret plan. Chat Noir told me not to tell anyone, not even Ladybug!”

“What?” Chat growls. His hand clenches around his glass. “That’s a complete lie, and you know it! You almost got Ladybug killed. You’re a—”

“Charles!” Marinette says. “I, um—”

“How would you know?” Lila asks, smiling sweetly. “You weren’t there. Unless you’re the fireman who tended to my injury, but I don’t think Marinette’s _that_ desperate for a date.”

Chat looks like he’s two seconds from throwing his glass at Lila. “There was no injury, you—”

“Oh, Marinette,” Lila says. Her mouth droops in a convincing pout. “What did you tell this Charles about me? It sounds like he hates me. I can’t believe you’d bad-talk me like that! Just because you’re jealous that Adrien likes me more?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Marinette says. “I guess your reputation precedes you.”

Chat slams his glass down on the counter, startling both of them. “Excuse-moi? Adrien likes you? Oh, Lila, that’s a good one.”

“He kind of does like her,” Marinette murmurs. After all, despite all of the trouble Lila's caused, Adrien still insists on being friendly to her—unless that changed after Oni-chan, which Marinette doubts.

Chat glances at Marinette like she's gone insane. “What? He—”

“Do you even know Adrien?” Lila asks Chat.

“Actually, yes,” Chat says. “I do. Quite well, in fact.”

Marinette glances at him, eyes wide in surprise. “You—uh, you do?”

“Hm.” Lila taps a finger to her lips. “Your date looks surprised. Why didn’t you tell her you knew Adrien? He’s one of her best friends. Didn’t that ever come up?”

Mentally, Marinette goes through every curse she knows. As a skilled liar, of _course_ Lila knows a lie when she sees one. Marinette wishes she’d been more prepared so that she could corroborate Chat’s claims.

Chat falters. “I…it didn’t.”

“Oh, well, if you know him so well,” Lila says, “then you’d know he was supposed to be my date tonight. That’s why I’m here alone. Our plans fell through when his father told him he couldn’t go to the dance, so we haven’t brought it up to anyone, but—”

“What? I would never—he would—” Chat breaks off, spluttering. “Adrien would never go on a date with you, Lila! He doesn’t trust you to give him the time of day!”

Marinette’s shoulders slump. She wishes that was the case, but, well…Adrien certainly hasn’t explicitly turned down Lila’s advances. Even after being attacked by Caméléon, he still let her come to his house for a study session, where he let her kiss him on the cheek! Although Marinette’s tried to trust his judgment since then, she has a feeling he still thinks Lila’s lies are innocent and harmless.

“You don’t know that,” Lila says.

“I—he…” Chat folds his arms and glowers at her, practically baring his teeth. He almost looks feral. “Lila Rossi, your lies hurt people. Adrien might be _dense_ , but he isn’t stupid. He’d never want to be around someone who puts his friends in danger. And if you don’t believe me, you or Marinette can ask him. I’m certain he’ll tell you exactly that…if he hasn’t already, that is.”

Marinette shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have said that. He’s too…”

But then she sees that Lila’s posture is rigid, her smile slightly tenser, her gaze a bit unfocused. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line, quick tongue strangely silent.

“Wait,” Marinette says. “ _Did_ he say something like that?”

At that, Lila unfreezes. “No, of course not! Adrien and I are good friends.” She laughs airily, though it sounds slightly desperate. “We—we had a tiny spat, after that Kagami girl got herself akumatized. But I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.”

“I’m sure he did,” Chat snaps. “That _Kagami girl_ is one of his friends. And you’re a menace.”

Lila’s eyes narrow. “Who are you, again?”

“Charles Bellamy,” Chat says.

A smile spreads across Lila’s face. It’s like ooze creeping across the floor in a horror movie. “I remember now! I was just talking to Alya. You’re from Lyon, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering smoothly, Chat hesitates, and for a moment, Marinette worries he’s going to say _no_. While that’s the truth, they need to keep their story consistent. “That’s correct,” he finally says.

Lila lights up, which can only mean bad news for them. “And you don’t visit Paris often, right? In fact, Alya said you’d never witnessed an akuma attack.”

Chat’s jaw tightens. “That…is what I told her.”

“So really, what could you possibly know about me or akumas, or Adrien Agreste?” Lila asks. “I’m sure it’s just whatever Marinette’s told you.”

Chat opens his mouth to answer, but Marinette decides to put them all out of their misery. “Yes,” she says, as if she’s confessing to a crime. “I’ve mentioned you to him before. He’s just going off that and—and whatever he’s read online. That’s my fault. He’s just trying to be a good date.”

“Marinette,” Chat hisses.

Lila sniffs. “I suppose he has to act the part, to be convincing. I mean, Lyon? That’s five hours away. I guess you couldn’t find anyone in Paris to be your date?” She places a hand on Marinette’s shoulder, and it takes all of Marinette’s willpower not to flinch away. “That’s just awful. So, is Charles your cousin or something? You can come clean if he is. I’m sure no one would judge you.”

“I’m not,” Chat says.

“We’re friends,” Marinette adds.

Lila shrugs, withdrawing her hand. “If you say so. But, well…don’t be surprised if anyone here thinks differently.”

A surge of anger goes through Marinette. That’s definitely Lila-speak for _I’m going to tell everyone that your date is your cousin, and you know they’ll believe me over you._ The nerve of her, to suggest that Marinette had to ask her cousin to the dance! Granted, she didn’t have a date until last night, when a cat-themed superhero offered to go with her out of pity—but that’s still a step above taking her cousin, isn’t it?

At a loss, she turns to Chat and is surprised to find that he’s already staring at her, eyes blazing. She starts to say something, but then he grabs her face and pulls her towards him. Without thinking, Marinette’s eyes flutter shut and she leans in. His hands are warm, a bit sticky against her skin, and his lips…

Well, she never feels his lips. One of Chat’s thumbs—the one farthest from Lila—presses against Marinette’s mouth, and that’s what he kisses instead. Still, she feels his nose brush against hers as he tilts his head, the tiny exhale of air he lets out, the soft stroke of his other thumb against her cheek. Telling herself that she’s only playing the part, Marinette lets her arms snake around his neck and presses closer, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips for real.

And as much as she wants to chide herself for thinking that, well, she might as well admit it: she wants to kiss Chat Noir. Really, who wouldn’t? He’s sweet, brave, strangely endearing, and of course he’s handsome. Marinette’s not going to fault herself for wanting to kiss someone as attractive as him. That’s a perfectly normal feeling.

At least, she hopes it is.

After a few seconds, Chat drops his hands and pulls away from Marinette. Despite only kissing his own hand, he looks a bit flushed, though it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the room. He turns to Lila, his arm curling around Marinette’s waist and pulling her against him. “Not her cousin,” he says severely.

Lila’s mouth hangs open. “I thought—”

“Marinette!” a familiar voice calls. A moment later, Alya appears at her side with Nino in tow. “Showing off your date, huh? I saw that kiss, girl.” She slings an arm around Marinette’s shoulders and winks. “Did you forget about Adrien already? I don’t blame you. Charles is a real catch.”

Chat stiffens next to Marinette. “Well, it doesn’t sound like her opinion of Adrien is all that high.”

Alya leans back in surprise. “One night with him and you’re already dissing your one true love? Those must have been some dance moves.”

Confused, Marinette stares at Chat. “What do you mean, my opinion—”

“Hey!” Alya says. “Less talking, more dancing. Come on, grab your boyfriend and let’s hit the dance floor!”

“We already danced enough! And he’s not my—”

“Marinette,” Chat murmurs, “would you rather stick around and talk to Lila more?”

Marinette’s eyes slide over to Lila, who’s still standing there like she has something to say. “More dancing it is!” Marinette says. “Let’s go.”

She tightly grabs Chat’s hand and pulls him along with her, following Alya. Chat trudges along behind her, refusing to take her hand in his, and Marinette can’t shake the feeling that she’s said the wrong thing.

Once they find an empty spot on the dance floor, Alya starts swaying to the beat of some song by Maître Gims. With her arms looped around Nino's neck and his hands loosely gripping her hips, she calls, “Come on, you two! Get dancing!”

His movements stiff and deliberate, Chat wraps his hands around Marinette’s waist. Awkwardly, Marinette rests her hands on his shoulders and tries to move to the beat.

For the first minute of the song, Chat doesn’t say anything. His eyes wander around, avoiding Marinette completely, and although their bodies are only centimeters apart, it feels like he’s on the other side of the room.

“So,” Marinette says. “You…you really managed to strike a nerve with Lila!”

Chat’s eyes glance over her. “I guess.”

“How did you know that she and Adrien had a fight?”

Jaw clenched, Chat doesn’t respond right away. The silence is filled with the sound of Maître Gims singing in the background. _J'te retiens tu m'échappes, silencieux comme un chat_ _._

Marinette’s hold on Chat tightens. She hates how fitting the lyrics are: because every time she’s close to figuring Chat out, he retreats, and she’s left wondering what’s going on inside his head.

At last, Chat says, “It was a guess. I went to the Agreste Mansion after the battle, and Adrien was there. He was really angry.” His fingers dig into Marinette’s waist. “We both were.”

Marinette’s eyes fall to her feet. “I didn’t realize.”

Without looking at her, Chat continues, “If you think Adrien and I are so much alike, you should know that he wouldn’t trust Lila after that.”

“I know,” Marinette says, her eyes still tracking her shoes. “It’s just—he’s always seemed content to let her do whatever she pleases.”

“Well,” Chat says. “When you spend your whole life having decisions made for you, you tend to lack a spine. Which he does.”

At those words, Marinette’s head snaps up. “Don’t say that!” she says. “He’s not—”

“And I can say that, because I’m spineless too. Without the mask, I hardly ever stand up to people like Lila.” Chat laughs hollowly. “Akumas are no problem, even when I’m not transformed. But bullies? People who hurt my friends? Half the time, I’m useless.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Marinette murmurs. “Chat—”

“Marinette!” A new song starts, and Alya twirls over. “Can I borrow Charles for this song?”

“Ah, Mademoiselle Césaire!” Chat says. As if someone’s flipped a switch, his face suddenly brightens. It’s disconcerting, how quickly he can put on a smile. “I see word of my dancing skills has gotten around. You want a turn?”

“You know it,” Alya says. “Also, I have a few questions for you.”

“Alya,” Marinette warns.

Chat laughs, and if Marinette hadn’t seen how sullen he was five seconds ago, she’d almost think it was genuine. “Hopefully I have answers.” He lets go of Marinette and holds out a hand for Alya. “Shall we?”

As they dance away, Nino slouches over to Marinette, hands tucked into his pockets. “Hey, Marinette. I guess we could dance while Alya’s interrogating him?”

They’ve both grown tired of partner dancing, so they decide to dance next to each other instead. For the most part, Nino’s not too talkative. He does make one comment about how Chloé should have let him DJ the event, with which Marinette agrees. Other than that, though, they dance in silence.

Unfortunately, that gives Marinette plenty of time to retreat into her own head, which is whirling and spinning with thoughts of Chat Noir. It’s clear that he’s offended on Adrien’s behalf, and honestly, Marinette can’t blame him. She hadn’t given Adrien enough credit. To be fair, his track record dealing with Lila isn’t fantastic…but still, she should have trusted him. He’s naïve, not an idiot.

On the other hand, she’s having trouble understanding how civilian-Chat could possibly be a doormat. That doesn’t make any sense. Someone as bold, as brave, as loud as him—spineless? She tries to imagine Chat shrinking in the face of a bully like Lila, and it’s impossible.

Or almost impossible, anyway. Briefly, a different green-eyed face flickers through her mind: Adrien Agreste, his smile tense as Lila strokes his arm, saying nothing even as he squirms in discomfort. It’s the same Adrien who told Chloé he’d stop being friends with her if she didn’t treat her classmates with more respect, the Adrien who once _threw himself at Ladybug_ to knock her away from Riposte and injured himself in the process.

With that thought, it’s not so hard to imagine someone like Chat Noir being brave at times and reserved at others. And yet, Marinette hates to admit that she could have misjudged Chat all this time—or Adrien, for that matter. How could she let herself reduce the two boys to cardboard cut-outs? Of course Chat’s not full of bravado all the time. Of course Adrien’s not always quiet and polite. They’re real people, not dolls.

Real people are complex _._ They have virtues and flaws, and—well, Marinette feels like an idiot. She should know better than anyone what it’s like to keep a part of herself from the world. Why would she assume that Adrien and Chat haven’t done the same?

Before she can mentally chastise herself any further, the song ends, and Alya dances over with Chat.

“He’s definitely got moves,” Alya announces. “Though he can’t freestyle to save his life.”

Beside her, Chat rubs the back of his neck and laughs. “Alas, I cannot. Hip-hop is not my forte.”

“Okay!” Alya says, elbowing her way between Marinette and Nino. “You boys go find something to do for a song or two. I need to dance with my best friend.”

“Need?” Marinette repeats, amused. “What is it?”

Head tilted to the side, Alya holds up a finger. “Oh, they’re playing Angèle’s new single. I love this song.” She starts stepping and moving to the rhythm while Marinette tries to mirror her movements. “Anyway, your date Charles—he’s great. A little heavy on the puns, but it’s sort of cute.”

“He’s definitely cute,” Marinette admits.

“So you agree!” Alya says, rolling her wrists and hips to the song. “Yeah, and he’s totally in love with you, too.”

Marinette’s eyes practically leap from her skull. “What?”

Alya nods. “You should’ve seen how he was looking at you while I danced with him. I swear, every five seconds his eyes were on you.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s in _love_ with me!” Marinette says. “Charles and I are just friends.”

“Girl,” Alya says, fixing her with a flat look. “You’re as blind as Adrien if you think Charles only sees you as a friend.”

A male voice joins the Angèle song playing from the speakers. Marinette glances around, searching for Chat and Nino, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “He likes someone else,” Marinette says. “He’s been in love with her for ages.”

Even that doesn’t discourage Alya. “That might be what he tells himself, but trust me. I’ve never heard a guy talk about a girl the way Charles talks about you. I swear, that guy would fight a dozen akumas for you, Marinette.”

“Maybe one or two,” Marinette says, rolling her eyes at the irony. “Look, he…he’s just very complimentary. Whatever he said about me, he talks that way about everyone.”

Grabbing Marinette’s hands and swinging them, Alya shakes her head. “No. He complimented my dance moves and some of Nino’s tracks—he said you’d shown them to him—but that was nothing compared to what he said about you.”

Marinette frowns. She’s never shown Chat any of Nino’s music, so he must have heard it from their mutual friend at Françoise Dupont. “What…uh, what did he say?”

“I can’t tell you,” Alya says. “It was off the record.” When Marinette glares at her, she holds her hands up in surrender. “Hey, what kind of reporter would I be if I spilled confidential information?”

“Alya,” Marinette whines. “He didn’t _actually_ say anything that flattering, did he?”

“Look,” Alya says. “If Charles does think he likes someone else, he might not realize this—but he definitely has feelings for you. I’d stake my reputation as a reporter on that.”

Marinette’s glad Alya doesn’t really have to stake her reputation on that, because that’s one bet she’d be bound to lose. Short of finding out Ladybug’s secret identity, nothing could make Chat fall for Marinette over Ladybug.

She knows better than to argue with Alya, though, so she just shrugs. “Maybe.”

They dance until the song is over, and once that’s done, they wander around the perimeter of the room looking for Nino and Chat. Marinette’s feet are so tired that she almost runs into one of the snack tables, though she manages to swerve at the last second. Once again, she wonders how Chat could possibly think she’s graceful _._

“Also,” Alya says. “If Charles is ever in town again, we should all hang out! We could bring Adrien, too. I think he and Charles have a lot in common.”

“Maybe a few things,” Marinette says.

Alya pokes Marinette in the stomach. “Like the fact that they’re both secretly in love with you?”

“Alya! Adrien and Charles aren’t—”

“Adrien and Charles aren’t what?” a voice says.

Marinette whips around and finds herself face-to-face with Chat. Nino stands beside him, cradling a cream puff over a napkin. “Chat—Charles!” she squeaks. “I, uh—we were just—um—”

“We were talking about how you should meet Adrien sometime,” Alya says, to Marinette’s relief. “He couldn’t come tonight, but I think you two would get along.”

Chat nods. “Sure.”

Tentatively, Marinette glances up at him, trying to read his expression. It’s not easy with the mask in the way, but his mouth is pressed into a thin line, and his eyes—usually so expressive—are blank and impassive.

“Charles,” Marinette says. “Are you okay?”

In lieu of an answer, he says, “Dance with me?”

“Haven’t we danced enough?”

“A slow dance?” Chat asks, and now there’s something in his eyes: a flash of vulnerability, the look of someone waiting for Marinette to either catch him or crush him.

Why does it seem like she has so much power over this boy? As Ladybug, as Marinette, why does he let her influence him so much?

Marinette slips her hand into his, and this time, he laces his fingers through hers. “Lead the way.”

By now, the string quartet has returned from their break, though they’ve swapped out their classical repertoire for instrumental arrangements of pop songs. Marinette doesn’t recognize the ballad they’re currently playing, nor does she particularly care. She’s hyper-focused on Chat—his mood, his thoughts, his hands at her hips, his eyes trained on hers.

“Chat,” she says, quietly. As if he’s a real cat, she’s afraid to spook him by being too loud. “I’m sorry if I made you upset. I—”

“Marinette,” Chat says. “It’s fine. But right now, I just want to dance. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

Marinette adjusts her hands behind his neck and tries to maintain a respectful distance between them, but Chat’s grip at her waist tightens, pulling her closer. Leaning into his touch, Marinette closes her eyes and loses herself to the sound of the music, the sway of their dancing, the weight of his hands.

It’s nice for all of ten seconds, and then a scream cuts through the sound of strings.

Marinette springs away from Chat. “What was that?”

Chat whirls around and pushes Marinette behind him, throwing a protective arm in front of her. “Is someone hurt?” he yells.

“Akuma!” someone shouts. “Run!”

Marinette can’t quite see in the dim lighting, but across the room, a masked akuma figure floats above the dance floor. Shadowy tendrils extend from its body, lashing out at nearby students.

Growling, Chat turns to Marinette. “I think that’s our cue to leave, princesse. Can you run in those shoes?”

“It’s fine, Chat,” Marinette says. “Go find somewhere to transform. I can handle myself.”

He shakes his head. “Your father will never forgive me if I don’t get you to safety. I’m pretty sure he was serious about neutering me if something happens to you.” He holds out his arms. “S’il te plaît, Marinette. I don’t want to be worried about you while I’m fighting the akuma.”

For a moment, Marinette hesitates. She needs to get away and transform—the sooner Ladybug is on the scene, the better. If Chat leaves to take Marinette home, that’s an entire minute that people are defenseless against the akuma.

But Chat has a point. Family and friends have distracted Ladybug and Chat Noir from akumas before; it’s entirely possible that his concern for Marinette could be a liability in battle. The thought of Chat getting hurt because he’s thinking about her makes her heart twist.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s—”

She hasn’t even finished her sentence when Chat scoops her up into his arms and runs toward the stairs. Instead of going down to the first floor, though, he runs up to the roof. He bursts through the door and he sets Marinette down, then pulls something small and silver from his jacket pocket. 

Marinette realizes as he slips it onto his finger that it’s his Miraculous. Quickly, she averts her eyes. After all, she shouldn’t know what his ring looks like untransformed. The odds of her recognizing it are slim, but she doesn’t take chances when it comes to their secret identities.

“Plagg,” Chat calls, “transforme-moi!”

Green light bathes the roof, and a moment later, her date stands next to her in a leather superhero suit, adorned with cat ears and a tail.

Her heart thuds in her chest at the sight of him. Somehow, he’s just as handsome in the cat suit as he is in his designer clothes, if not more so. As Chat Noir, he seems freer—his eyes are brighter, his hair messier, his movements looser. There’s something wild, _magnetic_ about him like this.

“Marinette?” he asks, in that same gentle voice from before. And that soft demeanor, combined with his animal appearance…oh, damn him, he’s confusing her.

“I...I’m good!" Marinette says, a little breathless. “You can, um…pick me up again.”

Nodding, Chat lifts her in his arms and runs to the edge of the roof. In one smooth motion, Chat detaches his baton from his back and launches them off the building. The night air is brisk against Marinette’s face, the high-speed winds tangling her carefully-styled hair—though really, that’s the least of her problems when there’s an akuma attacking Le Grand Paris.

Chat hops from rooftop to rooftop, and within seconds, he lands on Marinette’s balcony. “Stay here, princesse,” he says, setting her down. “I’ll be back as soon as we defeat the akuma.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Marinette says.

Chat hesitates, then leans forward and presses a light kiss to her cheek. “I'll be quick.”

Blushing, Marinette brings a hand up to the spot he kissed. “T-take your time.” Chat grabs the balcony railing, preparing to leave, and Marinette grabs his tail instinctively. “Chat Noir?”

Turning, he tips his head to the side. His eyes sparkle in the soft glow cast by her balcony lights. “Yes?”

Words fail her. Not sure what to do, she wraps her arms around him and squeezes him in a tight hug. “Be careful. Please. You’re...you’re important to me. More than you know.”

Chat’s arms instantly wind around her waist and hold her tight against him. “Thank you, Marinette,” he says. “I—you are, too. More than _you_ know.”

They stay like that for a moment. Precious seconds tick by—seconds they could be fighting an akuma, rather than hugging it out on Marinette’s balcony—but neither one of them seems inclined to move.

Finally, Chat clears his throat and pulls away. He brushes his knuckles against Marinette’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon, princesse.”

Then he extends his baton and leaps into the night, making his way back towards the hotel. Tikki phases out of her purse and watches with Marinette as he disappears into the distance.

“You’ll see me sooner than you think, chaton,” Marinette says, turning to her kwami. “Tikki, transforme-moi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: there was actually a short scene in this fic where Marinette and Chat ran into Chloé, but I ended up cutting it because the chapter was too long and the Chloé encounter didn't add anything to it. However, I've posted that exchange on my Tumblr [here](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/186359644560/deleted-excerpt-from-burgundy-and-blush) in case anyone wants to read it! 
> 
> Also, any songs mentioned in this fic are songs that were on the Top 100 in France when I first wrote this chapter. I figured that a middle school dance would probably play popular songs from the radio, so that's how I chose them. The songs/artists are [here](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/186359654800/songs-from-burgundy-and-blush-chapter-4) for anyone who wants them. 
> 
> **Translations:**  
>  Leblanc – surname meaning “the white”  
> bonheur – good fortune; luck  
> quoi – what  
> ma chère – my dear  
> chatoient comme les étoiles – sparkle like the stars  
> entrechat – ballet leap  
> mec – dude  
> pour du beurre – all for nothing (slang)  
> chasseurs – hunters  
> J'te retiens tu m'échappes, silencieux comme un chat – I catch you, you escape, silent like a cat


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, another long chapter! I did try breaking it into two chapters, but ultimately I decided that it really does work better as one big chapter. Alas.

The battle against Masquerage—really, Papillon?—is surprisingly short. Ladybug’s not sure she’s ever seen Chat so focused before. He hardly makes any puns, he actually _waits_ to hear her plan before jumping in, and when he spars with the akuma, his blows are strong and precise. Within minutes, the battle is won and the butterfly is purified, leaving a distraught student kneeling on the ground in front of them.

“She said he couldn’t make it to the dance,” the boy says. “But then I realized she came with my best friend. Can you believe it? She thought I wouldn’t recognize her with the mask. I…”

Chat drops to a knee beside the boy. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I can understand why you’d be upset.”

“That was wrong of her,” Ladybug agrees. “Would you like one of us to take you home?”

“It will have to be you, my lady,” Chat says, standing. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Ladybug grimaces. If she lets Chat leave first, he’ll get back to her balcony before her and wonder where Marinette went. “Sorry, Chat,” she says, “but I used Lucky Charm before you used Cataclysm. I don’t think I have time to take him home.”

“But—but I have to—”

“What?” Ladybug asks, teasing. “Do you have a hot date to get back to?”

Crossing his arms, Chat averts his eyes. “Maybe.” Then his head snaps to face Ladybug, and it’s clear from this angle that his cheeks are bright red. “But no, to say _hot_ is inadequate. That makes it sound like she’s only…well, she’s not just…” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I—I need to get back to her.”

Ladybug blinks, taken aback by how eager Chat is to return to Marinette. Against her better judgment, she asks, “Are you seeing someone, Chat Noir?”

“You shouldn’t,” the akuma victim mutters. “They’ll just deceive you.”

“Ah, well.” Chat rubs the back of his neck. “I’m afraid I’m technically the one doing the deceiving.” He sighs and waves a hand at Ladybug. “You go. I’ll get this guy home.”

Now Ladybug wants to stay and ask him what he means by _I’m the one doing the deceiving._ Because sure, Marinette might not know who Chat is under the mask, but he can’t possibly think that bothers her, can he? She understands that his identity has to remain secret.

Her earrings are beeping insistently, though, warning her that she has one minute left. As much as she’d like to question her partner—maybe get some of that _confidential information_ Alya mentioned earlier—she can’t stay any longer. With a wave, Ladybug swings out a window and returns to her balcony.

She crouches down, and a few seconds later, her transformation drops. Tikki hovers next to her, smothering a yawn, and Marinette hands her a macaron from her purse.

“Tikki,” Marinette says, scanning the horizon for her partner. “Chat…he can’t like Marinette, can he?”

There’s a pause as Tikki finishes chewing. “Why not?”

“I—I mean!” Marinette waves her arms. She doesn’t know _what_ she means. “He’s in love with Ladybug! And I’m a civilian!” She slumps against her balcony table. “He can’t fall for Marinette.”

Tikki settles on the table in front of her. “Well…he could!”

“But I don’t want him to.” Marinette props her elbows on the table and rests her chin against her hands, glaring at one of her plants. “I love Adrien. And I think I love Chat too, but—I still want to be with Adrien. And I don’t want to break Chat’s heart as Ladybug _and_ Marinette.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Tikki says brightly. “These things have a way of working themselves out.”

Marinette frowns at her kwami. “Tikki, if I have to reject him, he’s going to get hurt.”

“You might not have to,” Tikki says. “I don’t think he’s going to confess to you as Chat Noir.”

“So he’s going to confess to me as—as—as some random civilian? That’s even worse!”

Despite Marinette’s distress, Tikki giggles. “I didn’t mean that, exactly.”

“Still.” Marinette flicks a tiny rock across the table, watching as it skitters to the ground. “I’m not going to give up on Adrien, and I don’t want to pursue anyone else in the meantime. I just…” She sighs. “Tikki, you say these things work themselves out, but I don’t see how this can possibly end well.”

With a gasp, Tikki flies away and ducks into Marinette’s purse. A second later, Marinette hears soft footfalls behind her.

She spins around. “Chat Noir!”

“Salut, princesse,” he says, leaning on his staff. “Miss me?”

“That was fast,” Marinette says. “Did you beat the akuma already?”

“It helped that I had motivation.”

Marinette’s face warms. “Me?”

“Who else?”

She wants to be happy to see Chat, she does—but there’s still a chance he’ll confess to her, and dread stabs her stomach when she thinks about rejecting her chaton yet again. “You didn’t have to hurry for me.”

Chat straightens, reattaching his baton to his back. “I, uh…didn’t, not really. I used Cataclysm early in the fight and had to flee before I detransformed.” His ring beeps shrilly. “Speaking of which…”

Marinette presses her lips together. She was at the akuma battle as Ladybug; she knows exactly why he wanted to leave so quickly afterwards. Instead of pressing him, though, she asks, “Are we going back to the dance?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Chat says. “Most people ran from the akuma attack, and then reporters swarmed the place to interview hotel guests and the remaining students. The dance would have been over by the time the room reopened.”

“Oh. That’s too bad,” Marinette says. “Do you need something to eat? My parents made us some snacks before they went to bed. And there are some leftovers from the bakery, too.”

Chat shifts from one foot to another. “Ah, sure. You can go first. I’ll detransform and follow.”

Marinette slips through the trapdoor and drops onto her bed. Perched on the edge, she removes her heels first, then climbs down from her bed and flips open the trapdoor in the floor. After setting her shoes and purse aside, she lowers herself through the door and creeps down the stairs to the kitchen.

It’s quiet and dark, with the only light coming from the dimmed fixture over the kitchen table. Hoping she doesn’t trip, Marinette tiptoes over to the counter and grabs the two cellophane-wrapped platters sitting on it.

“Hi,” Chat says from behind her.

Marinette jumps, tossing one of the platters into the air. Chat lunges and catches it with one hand, his other one coming up to steady Marinette. He’s detransformed now, back to wearing his burgundy suit and masquerade mask.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t see you,” Marinette says. “Or hear you.”

“I suppose it is a little dark in here. Too bad I don’t have my night vision.” Chat shrugs. “As for you not hearing me…sorry. I tend to slink around.”

“You really are a cat,” Marinette says. “We can take these up to the balcony. I don’t want to wake my parents up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Do you want anything to drink?”

Chat glances at the tea kettle on the counter. “I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

Marinette nods and hands him her platter. “You take these upstairs, and I’ll put some water on to boil. I’ll bring it up in a few minutes. Oh, and…” She hesitates, recalling the plate of assorted cheeses her parents left in the fridge. Some of them are probably to Plagg’s taste—but she’s not supposed to know that Plagg exists.

“What is it?”

“Um,” Marinette says. She pauses to fill the tea kettle and set it on the burner. “I don’t know much about the Miraculouses, but…well, I saw Chloé transform once.”

“Right,” Chat says. “When she transformed at the Gabriel fashion show. You were there, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. And when she did, she had a little creature with her.” Marinette opens the fridge door and peers inside, standing so that Chat can see the cheese plate. “I don’t expect you to tell me all of your secrets, of course, but if you did have one of those things—”

“Camembert and Coulommiers!” a tiny voice sings. Plagg darts into the fridge and sits down on the shelf, reaching for the cheese. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be here.”

“Plagg!” Chat snaps. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, relax,” Plagg says. He sniffs one of the cheeses and sighs. “Divine. Simply divine. I could stay here forever.”

Marinette giggles. “I might have trouble explaining you to my parents.”

Chat lets out a sound between a sigh and a growl. “Marinette, meet Plagg. He’s a—a creature that helps me transform into Chat Noir. And he’s also a creature that _shouldn’t have revealed himself to you._ ” Chat leans around Marinette to glare at his kwami. “Tell me, did you forget the part where no one’s supposed to know about you?”

Plagg shrugs and pops a piece of cheese into his mouth. It disappears down his throat with alarming speed. “It’s just Marinette. Don’t worry about it.”

“Your lack of subtlety is horrific.”

“Your lack of _Coulommiers_ is horrific,” Plagg retorts, munching on another piece. “Why don’t we have this stuff at home?”

“You’ve never asked for it!” Chat says. “You always demand Camembert!”

Plagg huffs. “Well, maybe I want something different. I have refined tastes, after all. A connoisseur such as myself should not be confined to one type of cheese.”

“What, do you expect me to haul around a mini fridge full of cheese all the time?” Chat asks. “To maintain _variety?”_

Pupils dilating, Plagg glances up. “Can we do that?”

“No!” Chat groans and makes his way back toward Marinette’s room. “I swear, he gets some sort of weird pleasure from tormenting me. Sorry, Marinette.”

Plagg sticks out his tongue, which Chat can’t see from where he stands. Marinette can’t help but laugh at the kwami’s antics. “I don’t mind,” she says. “You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Scoffing, Chat climbs the stairs to her room and disappears through the trapdoor.

Once he’s out of earshot, Marinette smiles at Plagg. “That wasn’t very nice, you know.”

Nodding, Plagg tosses a particularly large piece of Camembert into his mouth. “I know! Does he really expect me to just eat Camembert all the time?”

Tikki darts out from behind a cookie jar and hovers in front of the small black cat. “Plagg!” she chides. “You should be nicer to Chat Noir.”

“He should give me more cheese,” Plagg grumbles.

Tikki rolls her eyes. “Plagg never thinks he has enough food.”

“Like a real cat,” Marinette muses. “Well, Plagg, you’re welcome to any cheese on that plate. But I agree with Tikki! You shouldn’t be so mean to Chat.”

“It’s called _banter_ ,” Plagg says. “Ladybug and Chat Noir do it all the time, non? You should understand.”

“Well, yes, but…” Marinette glances at Tikki. She can’t imagine talking like that to her kwami, but then, it makes sense that Chat and Plagg have a different dynamic. “I guess so.”

“Believe me,” Plagg says. “It’s for his own good. He needs to learn how to talk back.”

And that sort of makes sense. Tikki sometimes acts as an advisor to Marinette—maybe this is Plagg’s own strange way of mentoring Chat. “He’s certainly got the banter down,” Marinette says.

“You’re so rude, though!” Tikki says, wagging a paw at Plagg. “You’re supposed to nurture him, not insult him.”

“I do nurture him!” Plagg protests. “I keep telling him to date Marinette. That’s a free hint! But the idiot’s too dense to realize she’s Ladybug.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” Tikki says. “After all…”

But she doesn’t finish her sentence. Marinette frowns. “What?”

“Nothing!” Tikki says.

“And _your_ holder’s dense, too,” Plagg says. “They’re a match made in heaven!”

“I’m not dense!” Marinette says. “I know Chat’s in love with Ladybug! I’m just—I’m in love with Adrien.”

To her confusion, Plagg just cackles. “I know! And now A—” He coughs, and tiny bubbles come out of his mouth. “And now Chat Noir does, too. At last! Oh, this is too good. I can’t wait to see his reaction when we get home.”

“Wait,” Marinette says. “Why would Chat care that I like Adrien?”

Apparently Plagg is done talking, because he just laughs and takes another bite of cheese.

“Tikki?” Marinette tries.

Tikki shakes her head and watches Plagg, her mouth curled in disdain. It’s an odd look on her, when she’s usually so cheery. “Plagg, these things are hard enough for teenagers without you meddling!”

“I have absolutely _no_ intention of meddling,” Plagg says. “I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the crisis. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an entire plate of cheese to eat. You can close the door.”

Now that Marinette thinks about it, her torso is getting pretty cold. Sighing, she waits for Tikki to fly out, then pushes the refrigerator door shut.

“What was that all about?” Marinette asks. “Why would Chat be upset that I like Adrien?”

“I’m sure he’s not upset,” Tikki says, smiling. “Ignore Plagg! He’s the kwami of destruction. He likes to sow chaos and confusion.”

“I’ve done no such thing!” Plagg sings from inside the fridge. “These two did it all by themselves!”

Before Marinette can ask Tikki what he means by _that_ , the tea kettle starts hissing steam. Marinette hastily spoons tea leaves into a teapot and pours the boiling water inside, then slams on the lid. She grabs a tray from the cupboard, sets the pot and two teacups on it, and slowly—painstakingly—walks to the stairs. Tikki stays behind with Plagg.

Unable to get the trapdoor on her own, Marinette knocks against the wood. “Chat, are you there? Can you get the door?”

Without delay, he swings the door open and takes the tea tray from her. “I figured you might need some help.”

As he climbs up to her bed, Marinette lingers on the floor below. “I’m going to change first, and then I’ll follow you.”

Chat glances over his shoulder. “You’re taking off the dress?”

“Well, not while you’re here!”

Chat yelps. “I didn’t mean that! I just—I—uh—I’ll go up to the balcony now. Take your time.” He clambers onto her bed and crawls through the trapdoor, leaving Marinette alone in her room.

She takes off her mask and waits a few seconds to make sure Chat won’t come back for anything. Then, once she’s sure he’s gone, she reaches for the back of her neck and starts to tug the zipper down.

_Oh, no._

“Tikki,” she whispers. “Tikki, are you here? I can’t get my zipper down far enough.”

Her kwami doesn’t appear, and Marinette can’t risk calling any louder or else her parents or Chat might hear her. In theory, she _could_ go back downstairs, except she has a feeling Plagg and Tikki are talking about something confidential. She can’t afford to accidentally overhear something she shouldn’t, nor does she want to intrude on the little time the kwamis have together.

Marinette sighs in frustration, straining her arm behind her in an attempt to reach the zipper. She tries reaching from above, from below, and nothing seems to work. It feels like she’s about to dislocate her shoulder. Maybe she should find some ribbon? She vaguely recalls reading an online hack involving zippers and ribbon.

Arching her back, Marinette reaches over her shoulder and stretches her arm down, down, fingers groping for the zipper. She almost has it when she steps back and trips on the shoes she ditched earlier. With a yell, she stumbles, and after three seconds of valiant flailing, she topples over and falls against her desk, cracking her hip off the corner and scattering papers everywhere.

Marinette groans. “Damn zipper!”

The trapdoor above her bed cracks open. “Uh, princesse? What happened?”

“I tripped,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“Did you have trouble with the zipper?”

Marinette considers lying, but she doesn’t want to be trapped in the dress all night. “Yes. I—I can’t reach it.”

“Should I come down?”

She nods sullenly, before realizing that Chat can’t see her. “Yes.”

Chat swings through the trapdoor above her bed and practically slides down the stairs to the floor. He gives an elaborate bow when he lands. “À votre service, mademoiselle.”

Marinette pads over to him, careful to avoid tripping on anything else on her floor. “Sorry about this! I should have made the zipper easier to get. I designed the dress, after all!”

Spinning her around, Chat laughs. “It’s fine. How far down should I…um…”

“Oh. Well.” Marinette reaches around her back and presses her fingers to the middle of her spine. “That’s as high as I can reach.”

“Okay!” Chat says, his voice bizarrely high. “Y-yeah. Okay. Um.”

“Chat?”

“I’m fine! I—I’ve done this dozens of times. I don’t know why I’m…”

Marinette turns her head in Chat’s direction. “You’ve unzipped girls’ dresses dozens of times?”

Chat lets out a strangled _ah._ “I—uh—it’s not what you think, I assure you.”

Well, what else could it possibly be? Either Chat was exaggerating, or he really has done this dozens of times. Of course, Marinette shouldn’t care if Chat has apparently dated dozens of girls—intimately enough to be _undoing their dresses_ at the end of the date—but she can’t deny that it rubs her the wrong way.

Not that she’s jealous. No, sir. She’s glad Chat has such an active dating life! Maybe it will help him move on from Ladybug. She definitely wants him to move on from Ladybug.

“That’s fine!” Marinette says, too quickly. “It’s fine if you’re dating other girls. I mean, not that we’re dating! But, you know. Good for you.”

“No! No, I’m not. That is…” Chat sighs. “I…I was talking about costumes, Marinette. I’ve been in a few shows, and the girls’ outfits aren’t always easy to get out of. If I’m standing nearby, they sometimes ask me to unzip them. That’s all.” He chuckles. “I certainly don’t make a habit out of following them back to their bedrooms and undressing them.”

“Is that what you plan to do right now?” Marinette asks, her cheeks hotter than the water she just boiled. “Undress me?”

“Dieu du ciel, non!” Chat exclaims. “Oh, no. That’s not—I didn’t mean—oh, have mercy, Marinette. That’s not what I meant.”

Despite the fire blazing in her cheeks, Marinette giggles. “You know, I used to think you were a smooth skirt-chaser, but now I realize you’re just an innocent kitten.”

Chat’s silent for a moment. “You thought I was a skirt-chaser?”

“Oh.” Marinette realizes how that might have sounded. “Not really. But you’ve always seemed like a bit of a flirt, you know? I thought you’d be more…debonair, or something.”

Some strange part of her mind thinks, _Please, prove you are._ Marinette almost wants Chat to retaliate by showing her how charming he is—she wants him to sweep her off her feet, hold her tight, woo her and romance her.

“Well,” Chat says curtly. “Sorry to disappoint.” He laughs harshly as he unzips Marinette’s dress partway. This time, his movements are mechanical, cold; the warmth of his touches from earlier in the night is gone.

“Chat,” she starts.

“And done!” he says cheerily. “I’m glad to be of service. If that’s all, I’ll return to the balcony now.”

Marinette whips around and grabs his arm, holding him in place. She prays her dress doesn’t slip off. “Chat, wait.”

“What? Are my zipping skills unsatisfactory, as well?”

“No!” she says. “No, I…I’m sorry, Chat. I should think before I speak.”

He shrugs. “Why? I’d rather hear what you really think. I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

“But that’s not what I meant!” Marinette says. “What I meant was, you’re a superhero who doesn’t bat an eye at fighting dangerous supervillains. I just…I thought it was cute that unzipping my dress could make you so flustered.”

Chat’s eyes narrow, though he doesn’t look angry. “Cute?”

Marinette nods, hoping he can see the sincerity in her eyes. “I’m an awkward mess around people I find attractive. For some reason, I had it in my head that you were smoother than me. I guess it’s a pleasant surprise to know that we’re both just as…”

“Hopeless at flirting?”

“I was going to say _easily embarrassed.”_

“You know,” Chat says, smirking, “you _are_ pretty quick to blush.”

“Look who’s talking,” Marinette says. “I can’t tell where your suit ends and your face begins.”

He swallows. “Well. My face has a few things my suit doesn’t.”

“Oh?” Marinette leans forward. She’s fighting back a smile. “Like…?”

“Eyes, and…uh, a nose?”

Emboldened, Marinette taps his chin. “And lips. I think your face would be easier to kiss than your suit.”

“Y-you’d certainly have a harder time with the…the suit.” Chat exhales shakily, tilting his head away from Marinette. His eyes fixate on the far wall. “It’s not nice to tease, princesse.”

Marinette laughs. “You’re right. Sorry.” Standing on her tiptoes, she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to change now.”

At first, Chat doesn’t move. He’s still staring at the wall, his cheeks an even darker shade of red than before. He seems to be frozen in place.

“Chat,” Marinette says. “I appreciate the company, but I’d like to change alone.”

His head swings around to face her. “Right. Sorry. I’ll go now. Uh, to the bisou. I mean, le balconnet! That is, not the bra kind, I mean—the balcony.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’ll be on the balcony.”

Stuttering an apology, Chat retreats to the balcony at lightning speed. Really, Marinette’s kind of impressed that he can move that fast without superpowers.

For a moment, she wonders how he could be that flustered just from a kiss on the cheek. But as she unzips the dress the rest of the way and steps out of it, she suddenly understands his _balconnet_ slip: he must have seen that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress.

Well, why would she? Her chest isn’t that big, and a bra would have shown through the lace. If Chat is really such a fashion expert, he’d understand that! And he’s supposedly unzipped dozens of dreses? Surely one or two of those girls weren’t wearing bras. It’s not that big of a deal.

Snorting, she lays the dress over her desk chair and retrieves a t-shirt and jeans from her closet. Normally, she’d just throw on sweatpants, except she doesn’t want to look _too_ unglamorous in front of Chat. She doubts he’d notice, but for whatever reason, she’s oddly tempted to impress him. Maybe because Chat seems to be somewhat attracted to her? After enduring Adrien’s obliviousness for so long, it’s nice to know that she still has the ability to stun a cute boy. Tomorrow, of course, she’ll go back to pining for Adrien, and Chat will go back to longing for Ladybug. But for tonight, at least, maybe they can enjoy this thing between them—whatever exactly it may be.

When Marinette joins Chat on the balcony, she finds him leaning on the railing with his back to her, gazing out at the Seine. The tea tray and platters sit on the table behind him.

She clears her throat. “I’m done.”

Chat nods. He doesn’t move from the railing. “You have a nice view from here. I noticed it the other time I was here, but I wasn’t really in the mood to appreciate it.”

Marinette realizes he must mean the night Glaciator attacked—the night she found out he was in love with Ladybug. “I wasn’t either,” she says, joining him at the railing. “I was heartsick too, remember?”

He nods again. “Was it…”

“Adrien?” she says. “Yeah. It was.”

“I’m sorry,” Chat murmurs.

“Oh, don’t be!” Marinette says. “I mean, I’m sorry, too. About Ladybug.” She cringes and looks at the city below, searching for a distraction. “The lights on the water are pretty, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Chat says, his voice soft. Just like the night of Glaciator, Marinette’s thrown by how sensitive he sounds. “Look, you can see the moon, too. It’s bright tonight.”

“It is,” Marinette agrees, though she’s not looking at the moon. Her eyes are riveted to Chat, drinking in the way the multicolored balcony lights cast a rosy glow on his face. He looks so young and vulnerable right now. A little lost, even.

Then his green eyes are on hers, glimmering in the light—and oh, they really do sparkle like the stars. Not that she’ll ever tell him that. “You know,” Chat says. “I wish I had a balcony like this in my room. Sometimes my house gets stifling, and short of transforming into Chat Noir, I don’t really have a way to get fresh air.” He sighs, dangling his arms over the railing. “You’re lucky, Marinette.”

“Because I have a balcony?”

Chat shakes his head, smiling. “No. The balcony’s nice, but that’s not what I meant. Your parents, your friends, just…your life in general.” He glances at her sideways. “I know everyone has their problems, of course. I’m sure your life’s not perfect. But, well. I’m a little jealous, I guess.”

The sad look in his eyes makes Marinette physically ache. With those words, there’s no denying it: Chat is lonely. It makes sense, really. Why else would he jump at the the opportunity to attend a dance with a girl he hardly knows? Marinette should have realized it wasn’t just a simple favor. There’s something incredibly sad about Chat, and it’s taken her until now to notice.

“Chat,” she says, gently laying her hand on his arm. “If you ever need to breathe, my balcony’s all yours.” Sure, it might make transforming into Ladybug a little inconvenient, but she can’t stand the thought of her chaton being cooped up and miserable. “And my parents and I would be happy to see you again, if you ever want to come over. You wouldn’t even need to be transformed! You could just wear that mask again.”

His fingers come up to trace the border of his mask. “That’s kind of you. But I couldn’t impose.”

“I want you here,” Marinette finds herself saying. As soon as the words leave her mouth, her instinct is to take them back, but she doesn’t. “I mean it, Chat. I’m not just being kind. I like having you around. And I know it’s not the best idea for a superhero to spend time with a civilian, but maybe we can make an exception.”

Chat stares out at the Seine. “That would be nice.” He stretches his arms above his head, back arched like his namesake, and turns to the food behind them. “Shall we eat now?”

Marinette retrieves two stools hidden off to the side and places them by to the balcony table. With a flourish, she pulls out Chat’s stool for him. “Take a seat, Monsieur Bellamy.”

Eyes crinkled in a smile, Chat sits down. “Such chivalry! Merci, princesse.”

Marinette sits across from him and reaches for a macaron. Fighting a smile, she watches as Chat scarfs down a chocolate pastry and wipes the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Those aren’t the table manners of a rich boy,” Marinette teases.

Chat rolls his eyes. “You sound like my father.”

“He polices your eating habits?” Marinette asks, shocked.

“Only when he eats with me, which is pretty much never.” Chat picks up a croissant and waves it as he speaks. “Usually it’s just me and a large empty table.”

“You could eat dinner here,” Marinette offers, surprising herself. “There are only three of us, but the table never feels empty.”

“Now you’re spoiling me.” Chat takes a bite of the croissant, considering. “I’d really like that, though. I could try to sneak out sometime.”

After that, the conversation moves to more pleasant topics: movies, video games, fashion. Chat proves to be surprisingly knowledgeable about the lattermost, which gives Marinette a rare opportunity to ramble about design to someone who mostly understands what she’s saying.

“And of course,” Marinette says, after she’s spent ten minutes ranting about buttons, “you have to consider the practicality of your design, as well.”

“Right.” Chat nods. “Something could look great on a mannequin but fit terribly on a person.” He shudders. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“Oh?” Marinette says. “Is Chat Noir doing some modeling on the side?”

Chat’s eyes widen, and he drops the tiny sandwich he’s holding. “N-no, I don’t—that is—I meant trying on clothes at the store! Clothes that are…sometimes on mannequins.” He hastily scoops up the dismantled sandwich and tosses it into his mouth, chewing like his life depends on it.

“Relax, Chat. I’m kidding. Though you definitely have the looks.” Marinette hums, picking at a baguette. “Anyway, there are so many fitting problems a designer has to consider. How much flexibility does your design give the wearer? Would it be too short on someone taller than average? Could someone with a bigger chest wear a bra underneath it?” She pauses to flick some crumbs off her hand. “I mean, I don’t have that problem. But that creates issues of its own. For example, I can’t wear plunging necklines. They’d just make me look like I’m trying too hard.”

Chat blinks rapidly. “I, uh…I don’t think so.”

“What?”

He makes a squeaking noise. “I mean, big chests aren’t a prerequisite for daring necklines. I think that style can be attractive regardless of body type.” Then he flails his hands, nearly knocking their remaining food off the table. “Not that—I mean, you have a very nice—ah. Never mind.”

“Chat?”

Now he’s staring pointedly over Marinette’s shoulder, his entire posture rigid. Stiffly, he says, “You would look very nice if you chose to wear that style.”

Marinette tries—and fails—to suppress an embarrassing squeal. “Oh. Uh. Th-thank you.”

“So!” Chat says, clapping his hands together. “Have any summer design ideas? I hear wild prints are in.” 

Mercifully, the conversation moves on. At some point, a light breeze kicks up, and Marinette shivers, hugging her arms to her body. “I should’ve worn a jacket,” she grouses.

“Take mine,” Chat says, shrugging out of his suitcoat. “I’m wearing more layers than you are.”

“No, no!” Marinette says. “You don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

Chat glances pointedly at the goosebumps all along Marinette’s arms. “You’re cold.” He reaches around the table, passing her the jacket. “You can give it back when I leave.”

Tenderly, Marinette takes the jacket in her hands and runs her fingers along the fabric. “So well-made,” she comments. “Oh, mon dieu, Chat, I can’t wear this. I shouldn’t even be holding something this expensive. I’ll tear it, or spill something on it, or—I can’t be trusted.”

“Well,” Chat says, “if you damage it, then you’re keeping it. I’d rather tell my father that I lost it than have him find out I spilled tea on a five-thousand euro jacket.”

Marinette leaps up from her seat, holding the jacket at arm’s length. “Five thousand?” she shrieks. “Get it away from me! Chat, I can’t be holding this!”

Then Chat bursts out laughing. The sound is clear, musical, and it’s almost enough to quiet the panic roaring in her ears. “Marinette, that was a joke. It’s not nearly that expensive.” Lips pursed, he squints at the jacket. “Probably somewhere between a thousand and two thousand. I don’t remember, exactly.”

Marinette stares at him, horrified. “Chat.”

“Just wear it,” Chat says, eyes twinkling. “I think it will complete your look.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Marinette grumbles. Pulse pounding in her ears, she slips her arms into the jacket. “Jeans, a t-shirt, and a thousand-euro suit coat. An everyday look.”

Once she’s wearing the jacket, Chat smiles at her with a strange warmth in his eyes. “It looks good on you. A little big, but…I don’t know. I like it.”

“Well,” Marinette huffs. “Get a good look, because it’s the first and last time I’m wearing your stupid expensive clothes.”

“Is that a challenge, princesse?” Chat asks. “I bet I could get you into my clothes again, if I tried.”

Marinette swallows nervously, trying not to think about the implication of Chat’s words. Because what would _that_ look like? Unwillingly, her mind wanders through different possibilities: having a small apartment together with a shared closet, or maybe donning his shirt the morning after a night of passionate—

Sirens blare in Marinette’s mind. _Stop! Don’t go there. DON’T GO THERE._ Chat is her partner, her friend. Even if she has some feelings for him, she shouldn’t be thinking about a romantic relationship with him. She can’t.

On the bright side, the jacket is still warm with Chat’s body heat. No longer shivering, Marinette sits back down, her eyes glued to the food and cup of tea on the table. She’s not about to let her clumsiness ruin Chat’s jacket.

Her hands are still a bit cold, though, so she crosses her arms and tucks her hands inside the jacket to warm them up. As she does, her right hand brushes against something in the inside pocket. It feels uneven, bumpy—a watch, maybe? Or a bracelet of some sort?

Marinette presses her fingers to the pocket. “What’s in—”

“Don’t touch that!” Chat says. “It’s, ah, personal.”

Immediately, Marinette withdraws her hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s just a…a thing that I always have on me.” Chat waves a pastry, shrugging. “It’s nothing illegal, I promise.”

Marinette nods. Then she realizes that without the jacket, Chat’s arms look _really_ nice in his dress shirt. The pale color contrasts nicely with his tan skin, and the crisp fabric is fitted perfectly, showing off the shape of his torso and the muscles of his arms. _Damn it._ Who gave him permission to look that good?

“It’s just not fair,” Marinette mutters.

“Hm? What’s not fair?”

“Uh!” Marinette freezes. “I was just thinking about how…how it’s too bad you didn’t get the slow dance I promised you, since the dance got cancelled.”

“Actually, I was thinking about that.” Chat stands and brushes the crumbs from his pants. “If you want, I could transform, take us to a secluded rooftop, maybe put on some music. What do you say, princesse?”

Marinette knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the proper answer is, _No, that’s too romantic._ But what comes out of her mouth is, “L-let’s do that.”

With perfect timing, Plagg phases through the trapdoor and lands on the table. “Ah, Marinette! Thank you for the cheese. It was excellent. Better than what I get at home.”

“You know, I could just give you American cheese,” Chat says.

Plagg whirls around to face him, paws dramatically clutching his tiny chest. “The horror! You wouldn’t dare.”

Chat glares at him. It’s kind of endearing, the way his eyes scrunch up and his lower lip juts out. “Try me.”

Plagg turns to Marinette. “Can I just stay here? S’il te plaît, Marinette, I won’t cause any trouble.”

“That’s all you ever do,” Chat says. “Marinette, say no. He’ll eat every piece of cheese you have and destroy all of your glassware.”

“I would never!” Plagg exclaims. “I am the perfect guest. You won’t even know I’m here! I’m very low maintenance, I—”

“Plagg. Transforme-moi.”

With a _hmph_ , Plagg is sucked into Chat’s ring. Chat transforms in a green flash of light, then holds out a hand and wiggles his gloved fingers. “Well?”

Marinette giggles. “That was a little harsh.”

Chat rolls his eyes. “Trust me, he deserves worse.”

Without further ado, he lifts Marinette in his arms and propels them through the cool night. The wind whips Marinette’s face, further tangling her hair, but it hardly bothers her. Chat’s arms are safe and warm—it would be so easy to close her eyes and drift off to sleep in them. Yes, that would be nice: falling asleep in Chat’s arms while he holds her close, strokes her hair…

Marinette’s eyes fly open. Did she always have this many romantic thoughts about Chat? What’s wrong with her? Maybe it’s just because he reminds her so much of Adrien. That has to be it.

A few seconds later, Chat lands with a clunk on a very familiar monument.

“The Eiffel Tower?” Marinette says, as he gently puts her down. “You—you said a rooftop!”

Chat shrugs unapologetically. “I had a better idea once we were in the air.”

Even though the night is chilly, Marinette feels like fanning herself. “This is too much.”

“But isn’t this your favorite monument in Paris?”

Eyes narrowed, Marinette stares at Chat. “How did you know that?”

“I may have gathered some intel at the dance.”

“Alya,” Marinette groans. “I swear—”

“Now,” Chat says. “First we need some music…” He pats the pockets of his suit, then frowns. “I forgot. I left my phone at home. Do you have yours?”

“Zut. No, I left it in my purse.”

“Well.” Chat’s hand flies to the back of his neck—it’s a gesture Marinette has realized is a nervous habit of his. “I guess I’m staying transformed, then.” He presses a few buttons on his baton and props it up against a beam, then turns to Marinette. “Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Marinette says, as a slow drum beat and synthesizers fill the air. “What artist is this?”

“Juliette Armanet. Most of her songs are kind of melancholy, but they’re pretty.” Chat places his hands at Marinette’s waist, the same way he did at the dance before they were interrupted. “Don’t worry. I didn’t put any of her other songs on the playlist, so we won’t get too depressed.”

A dulcet female voice starts singing, and within a few words, Marinette understands what Chat means about the tone. _Je ne te vois que la nuit,_ Armanet sings. _C'est la nuit que je t'aime._

“You’re right,” Marinette says, winding her arms around Chat’s neck and swaying to the music. “She sounds a little sad. But I don’t think it’s too depressing. There’s a bit of hope in her voice, too.”

“Hm.” Chat’s lips tug into a smile. “Maybe.”

“So,” Marinette says, as she glances at the city below. “Did you make this playlist for Ladybug? The song’s rather fitting.”

She looks back at Chat, only to find that his eyes have slid away from hers. “No, actually. I made the playlist earlier today, just in case…well…” He laughs nervously. “I overplan, sometimes. I know I don’t seem like the type, but occasionally I go overboard.”

“You’re a true romantic,” Marinette says, smiling. “At least, that’s the impression I get.”

And it’s true—she’s learned by now that Chat is full of love, his heart practically overflowing, and yet it sounds like he has so few people he can share it with. Why else would he be so devoted to Ladybug or Marinette? How else could he have this much love left over for them?

“Something on your mind?” Chat asks.

Marinette presses her lips together. Chat had said earlier—bitterly—that he prefers to hear what people really think, so she probably shouldn’t lie to him. At the same time, she’s not sure how to say this. “You…seem to really care about Ladybug. And me.”

Chat tilts his head to the side. “What about it?”

“Don’t you have other people you care about?”

“Of course.”

“But you care about us so much, it seems like…”

“Marinette,” Chat says with a laugh. “My love’s not a limited supply. I don’t have to proportion it.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what—”

“It seems like no one else lets you!” Marinette blurts out.

Chat halts, pulling Marinette to a stop with him. “What do you mean?”

Marinette’s hands fall from Chat’s neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “It seems like you’re afraid to love anyone besides us, or—or like no one _lets_ you love them, or…” She swallows, tears stinging her eyes. “You seem lonely, Chat.”

He glances away. “Is it that obvious?”

“I don’t want you to be.” Marinette’s hands come to rest on Chat’s chest, pushing insistently against him. “And I don’t want you to think I pity you, either, because that’s not it.”

“I _was_ about to think that, to be honest.”

Marinette pounds a fist against Chat’s chest. “Stop that! Can’t you tell that I love you?”

She freezes. The words had sneaked up on her—she hadn’t even realized they were brewing in her heart until they were said. Should she take them back? This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Chat’s staring at her, his hands lax at her waist. “You…”

“Yes!” Marinette exclaims. “I do. And I don’t mean that crush I confessed on my balcony, because that’s shallow, and that wasn’t…what I mean is…” She blinks, and a tear makes its way down her cheek. “I _care_ about you, Chat. I want you—with this mask, the other mask, no mask—to be happy. I don’t want you to hurt. I hate the thought of you being lonely, or rejected, or miserable, just because…” Her lip trembles. “Just because some awful people in this world are too stupid to realize how wonderful you are.”

“Marinette—”

“And I wish I could give you as much love as you give me, but there’s so much, and I…how could I possibly…” Marinette sniffs and squeezes her eyes shut, trapping hot tears behind her eyelids. She realizes these are things Ladybug should be telling Chat, and yet the words won’t stop. “I don’t know how to repay all of this!”

_“Marinette.”_

At that, Marinette glances up, her vision momentarily blurred by tears. Chat’s looking down at her, his eyes shining with some mix of emotions—and oh, no, those are tears in his eyes, too. She was supposed to make him feel better, and instead she made him cry.

Chat presses a finger under her chin and tilts her face up. “Marinette,” he says, his voice softer than she’s ever heard it. “It’s not a competition. You don’t have to love me any more than you already do. The way you care for me—that’s already more than enough.”

“But…” Marinette wipes a hand across her nose, heedful of the jacket sleeve. “You deserve more. And I don’t deserve this much.”

“No,” Chat whispers. “No one _deserves_ love. It’s not something that’s earned.” His hand comes up to cup Marinette’s cheek. “Marinette, you don’t have to win my love from me, or pay me back for it. Whether or not you love me, being your friend means the world to me. I don’t need any more than that.”

“But I _do_ love you,” Marinette says through gritted teeth. “And you—you—why would you spend so much energy loving someone who might not love you back? You shouldn’t mindlessly give your heart away!”

Chat tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, wiping away a tear trail as he does. “I don’t give it away mindlessly,” he says. “I give it to people I trust. People I think will take care of it.”

Marinette can’t look at Chat any longer, so instead she throws herself at him and wraps her arms around his torso, burying her face against his neck. “Then…don’t you give it to more people? Aren’t there any others?”

Chat’s arms wind around her, and she feels his face press against her hair. He takes a shuddering breath before answering. “Well,” he says. “I do. But I don’t always get theirs in return.”

“It’s not fair,” Marinette murmurs, squeezing him as tightly as she can. “That’s not fair. Everyone should love you. No one should hurt you.”

Chat squeezes her back. “I can’t obsess over what’s fair, princesse. If I did, I would go insane.” His breath ruffles her hair. “All I can do is be grateful for the good things. Like you and your love.”

“You stupid sap,” Marinette mutters into his suit.

Chat’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I’m not the only one.” He pulls away, and Marinette looks up to meet his eyes. “And Marinette, for the record, I do love you. A lot. You’re very dear to me. I just wanted to be clear about that.”

Marinette lightly punches his arm. “I kind of got that impression.”

By now, the playlist has switched to a song by an English-speaking artist that Marinette doesn’t recognize. Chat glances at the baton, then back at Marinette. “Should we…”

“Sorry,” Marinette says, rewrapping her arms around Chat’s neck and pulling herself as close as she dares. As she does, she presses her cheek to his chest and strains to hear his heartbeat—and sure enough, his pulse somehow manages to beat through the inpenetrable material. The thump is uneven, a little fast in her ears, but it calms her instantly.

Chat’s hands press against the small of her back, pulling her even closer. Their chests are touching now, with his chin propped on her shoulder. Every breath he takes tickles her neck, and it should be uncomfortable, but instead the sensation is lulling; Marinette’s eyes flutter shut, and she finds herself leaning into Chat, trying not to fall asleep.

After a few songs, Chat pulls away slightly. “Princesse,” he says.

Marinette blinks drowsily. “Hm?”

“It’s about Adrien,” Chat starts. Immediately, Marinette’s head snaps up to stare at him. “You like him, but you haven’t told him. What…what are you afraid of?”

Marinette doesn’t answer right away. She desperately wishes she could escape this conversation. Of _course_ Chat was going to bring up Adrien again. Why wouldn’t he? Cats and curiosity, as he always likes to remind her.

“Never mind,” Chat quickly says. “I promised I wouldn’t pry.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette says. “I’m just embarrassed about the whole thing. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“Because he’s Adrien Agreste!” Marinette exclaims. “He has so many fans who claim to be in love with him. I don’t want to be the three hundredth person to confess their love! He’d just think I’m insincere.”

“I don’t think—”

“And maybe I am,” Marinette says, her shoulders slumping. “I’m so nervous around him that we’ve only had maybe a dozen complete conversations.” She shakes her head. “That’s another thing, Chat. I always make a fool of myself around him. I stumble over my words, or say the wrong ones, and I act like a complete idiot. Even if I somehow managed to ask him out, he’d just think I was stupid.”

“I wouldn’t—say that.” Chat presses his lips together, and Marinette’s sure he’s contemplating how best to say _maybe you should give up on him._ “I mean, I doubt he’d think that. I’ve said plenty of idiotic things to Ladybug, and I never got the feeling that she thought I was stupid.” He squints into the distance. “Except maybe the time I asked about edible Lucky Charms.”

Marinette snorts. She knows exactly what conversation he’s talking about. “It’s a fair question.”

“And then if you think about inedible ones—I mean, dogs and babies stick random things in their mouths all the time—”

“Chat.”

He clears his throat. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“That’s it, I guess,” Marinette says, shrugging. “And of course, I’m nothing special, not compared to all the celebrities he must know. I’m just Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Chat suddenly halts, causing Marinette to stumble a little. “What?”

“I…I mean, I’m not famous. You know that.”

“And you think he cares about that?” Chat exclaims. His hands come up to grip Marinette’s shoulders. “Marinette, for someone like Adrien, celebrity is the last thing on his mind. In fact, if he’s anything like me, I’m sure he can’t stand those famous people who walk around with their noses in the air. He’d prefer someone down-to-earth.”

“I guess. But—”

“And what do you mean, you’re _just_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” Chat goes on. His mouth is twisted into a scowl, his eyes blazing with a fire Marinette has only seen once or twice before. “Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing!”

“Chat, you know I appreciate the compliments, but you don’t have to exaggerate—”

“I’m not!” Chat shouts. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Marinette, I’m not exaggerating. I think you’re an incredible girl. And he does, too. I have that on good authority.”

Marinette almost smiles at that, but she can’t shake the feeling that Chat is just trying to make her feel better. “I appreciate it, Chat,” she says. “But I find it hard to believe I’ve made that kind of an impression.”

Chat lifts his hands to cradle Marinette’s face, his claws lightly pricking the skin of her cheeks. “Marinette,” he says.

“That’s the third time you’ve said my name in the past minute,” Marinette says. A single laugh huffs from her lungs. “Why? You already have my attention.”

“Because it’s an amazing name for an amazing girl,” Chat says, “and it’s one of my favorite words.”

Marinette’s nose wrinkles. “Stop. Now you’re just being embarrassing.”

Chat smiles down at her, his lips parting to reveal a grin. “Do you know what the word _Marinette_ means?”

“Something involving the sea?”

“Hm. You do have an ocean in your eyes,” Chat says, “though that’s not what I was thinking.”

“I’ll humor you,” Marinette decides. “What _did_ you mean?”

“Marinette means someone who’s clever,” Chat says, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Someone who’s quick and resourceful—who sometimes gets into trouble, but usually finds a way to solve the problem.”

“Usually,” Marinette repeats flatly.

“Well.” Chat winks. “Sometimes she might need a dashing cat to save her.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette fights a smile. “What else does it mean?”

“It’s someone who’s independent,” Chat continues. “She might need to be saved occasionally, but most of the time, she saves herself. She doesn’t wait for a prince to come find her in her tower.”

“Or in a giant fortress of vines?”

“That too,” Chat says, laughing. “And of course, she’s creative. She can use that creativity to design amazing outfits, or to escape a dastardly villain’s trap.”

“You mean like the time I used your baton to get away from le Dessinateur?”

Chat smiles sheepishly. “I’m still embarrassed that didn’t occur to me.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Marinette says. “Are you done?”

“No,” Chat says. “Marinette means someone who’s kind and caring. She’ll let a random superhero sit on her balcony when he’s sad, and she’ll comfort him even when she’s gripped by heartsickness herself.” He leans closer, his smile growing wider. “And she’ll shed tears over struggles that aren’t even her own. You have so much compassion, princesse. It’s almost overwhelming.”

“And this isn’t?” Marinette asks. Her throat is suddenly tight.

Chat, the bastard, just continues to smile at her. “I can stop, if you want me to. Though I could also go on all night, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t think I can handle that,” Marinette says. “But I’ll give you one more.”

“Marinette means love,” Chat says. “Someone who loves, who _is_ loved—she’s surrounded by it. It’s impossible to be around her without feeling some of that love.” His eyes shine in the dim light. “You don’t have to convince me you love me, Marinette. I can already feel it.”

Marinette swallows. “So…”

“Any boy would be lucky to be loved by you,” Chat says. “Including Adrien. He’s so fortunate to…to have someone so…” He glances away, his lower lip trembling. “I’m sure he’d be glad to know you care so much about him.”

“Oh, Chat,” Marinette says, bringing a hand up to his cheek. “You know I care about you, too.”

He nods, and a broken laugh escapes his lips. “Why do you think I’m crying?”

After that, there’s really no need for talking. The two cling to each other, hugging more than dancing, silent except for the occasional sniffle. It occurs to Marinette that Chat means a lot to her, far more than she’s ever wanted to admit to herself—no hiding from that fact now.

She’d thought that secret identities would allow them to keep some walls up, prevent them from getting too close to each other. She was clearly wrong. Because in the end, she doesn’t need to know his first name or his address to love him. She only needs to know his heart. And Chat, sweet Chat, has never been shy about showing her that.

It’s confusing. Her love for Adrien is light and fanciful: she dreams of a house, three children, pet hamsters. She wants to design clothes for him, have him buy her flowers, eat romantic dinners by candlelight. And then there’s her love for Chat: raw, intense, almost sacred. He’s her cosmic other half, and she’s drawn to him in a way that seems bigger, somehow. When she looks at him, she doesn’t think of baby names or dinner dates. She thinks of _together_. Battling, dancing, laughing, crying. The feeling is so profound that it almost scares her.

Marinette decides not to dwell on it too much. She doesn’t want to ruin the night with anxious thoughts.

Eventually, Marinette starts to fall asleep, so Chat retrieves his baton and carries her back to the balcony. As he sets her down, she’s reluctant to let go—her arms slip slowly from around his neck, stubbornly holding on. He laughs.

“Come on, princesse,” he says, as he peels her hands away from his skin. “You have to let go. I can’t follow you to bed.”

Logically, Marinette knows that. But her sleepy mind thinks that wouldn’t be so bad. Cuddling with Chat? He’d probably be warm. He might even purr. Marinette’s sure he’d be better than her cat pillow.

“Right,” she says. “Sorry.”

“And really, thank you for the date,” Chat says. “I had a wonderful time. Except when the akuma attacked, but you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Marinette bites back a smile. “I could’ve stayed behind and helped.”

“I’m sure you could have,” Chat says. “And I would have been terrified the entire time that the akuma would hurt you. It’s too dangerous to face an akuma without a Miraculous.”

“Maybe you can get me one,” Marinette says, playfully poking his chest.

Chat catches her hand in one of his. “Careful, or I might make you our next recruit.”

Marinette grimaces. That would be bad. _Quick, change the subject._ “Then you’d just get distracted,” she teases. “I think it’s better if I’m somewhere you can’t see me.”

“And starve my eyes of your beauty?” Chat exclaims. “Non, impossible! I refuse such a fast.”

“You flirt! You’re terrible.”

Chat brings her hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it. “But I mean every word.”

“Chat,” Marinette says. “Thank you. For the date, the dance—everything. I’m glad I got this chance to know you better.”

“You…don’t mind what you see?” Chat asks, his ears flattening slightly. “It’s not disappointing?”

“No. Not at all. Before, you were just Chat Noir, friendly superhero of Paris.” Marinette trails a hand down Chat’s arm and lightly grips his elbow. “Now, I see more. I see…” She struggles for words. “I see you.”

“Is it because I’m standing closer?” Chat asks. He’s wearing one of his shit-eating grins. “Maybe you’re nearsighted, princesse. You might want to see an optometrist about that.”

Marinette shoves him. “That’s not what I meant!”

“I know.”

“I meant that I see all of you now. In the beginning…” Marinette hesitates, picking her words carefully. “Whenever you acted differently than I expected, I thought those were contradictions. That night on my balcony, it was totally out of character for you. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.”

“And now?”

“It’s contrast. Not contradictions.” Marinette blushes. She’s not always good with words, and she wonders if that sounds stupid. “You’ve got different sides, but they’re all part of the same design. I see that now.”

For a moment, Chat simply stares at her. Then he gives her a small smile. “Thank you, Marinette. It feels nice to really be seen, for once. That doesn’t happen often.”

“And Chat?” Marinette says. “Do you mind if I offer some advice?”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t be afraid to show people both sides of yourself,” Marinette says, firmly. “You shouldn’t worry so much about what others think. It’s impossible to make everyone like you—and if someone doesn’t like all of you, then they didn’t really like you to begin with.”

“But that’s a little scary.” Chat glances away, worrying his lip between his teeth. “The idea that people who say they care don’t actually…”

“I know,” Marinette says. “But isn’t it better to know?”

Chat sighs. “You have a point. I’ll try to do better. And how about some advice in return, hm?”

“Make my dresses without zippers?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Chat says, snickering. “But no, my advice is this: don’t be so nervous around Adrien. You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng! There’s no way he thinks so little of you.” He squeezes Marinette’s shoulder. “Be confident, Marinette. You’re a phenomenal girl, and he knows it.”

“I didn’t realize mind-reading was one of your powers.”

“It’s not. But trust me, I know a thing or two about Adrien Agreste. And you do, too. Underneath all that doubt, you must know he cares about you.”

Marinette nods. She opens her mouth to respond, but her jaw stretches in a yawn, smothering her words. “Sorry. I’m a little tired, I guess.”

“I’d better get going,” Chat says. He dips his head and presses his lips to Marinette’s cheek in a brief kiss. “Bonne nuit, princesse.”

Then he nonchalantly turns to the balcony railing, as if he didn’t just cause Marinette’s face to erupt in its brightest blush yet.

“W-wait,” Marinette says. She dives toward her rose planter and breaks a flower off the bush, mindful of the thorns. Holding it out, she says, “A handsome rose for a handsome cat.”

To her delight, Chat’s cheeks flush. “Th-thank you, Marinette.” He delicately takes the rose from her and twirls the stem in his claws, marveling at the flower.

Marinette clears her throat. “Anyway! I’ll see you around, Chat Noir.”

“Indeed,” Chat says, leaping up onto the balcony. “Maybe even sooner than you think.”

With a wink and a salute, he launches himself into the night, leaving Marinette stunned and silent.

After a moment of processing, she lets out a squeak. “S-sooner than I think?”

Tikki suddenly appears at her side. “Maybe he’s coming back for a surprise visit!”

“No,” Marinette says. “That was too coy! Tikki, what did he mean?”

Giggling, Tikki lands on the balcony table and reaches for a leftover pastry. “I don’t know.”

“Tikki,” Marinette whines.

A cool breeze sweeps through the balcony, and Marinette pulls her jacket tighter around her.

_Wait. Jacket?_

“Merde!” Marinette yells. “I forgot to give him his suit jacket back.” She turns to Tikki. “Is that what he meant? He’s coming back for the jacket? He meant he’s coming back for the jacket, right?”

But Tikki, with mischief rivaling Plagg’s, only laughs in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One short chapter left, and then the fic will be complete!
> 
> Also, funny story: When Marinette thinks to herself, _This wasn't part of the plan_...it literally wasn't part of the plan, lol. That line spontaneously happened and threw off my entire outline for the chapter. These damn kids!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Dieu du ciel – good heavens  
> bisou - kiss  
> balconnet – a small balcony; also a type of bra  
> Je ne te vois que la nuit, c'est la nuit que je t'aime – I only see you at night, it’s the night that I love (at least, I think that’s the translation?)  
> le Dessinateur – Evillustrator


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the final chapter, though it’s probably more like an epilogue. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read the fic or left comments/kudos. I really appreciate y’all! You’re the best.

The weekend passes in a blur, and all too soon, it’s Monday. Marinette’s _almost_ convinced that the dance on Friday was a dream—except for the fact that people in the halls are talking about the akuma attack, and that Alya accosts Marinette the second she sees her.

“Spill!” Alya says, leaning against the locker next to Marinette’s. Her trusty phone is in her hand, which means she may or may not be recording everything Marinette says. “You didn’t say anything all weekend. How did the rest of your date with Charles go?”

“We just went back to my house and ate pastries,” Marinette says. She grabs a notebook from her locker and shuts the door. “That’s all.”

Alya sighs in exasperation. “Quoi! No romantic dance in the moonlight? No heartfelt confessions of love?”

Both, of course, happened—but Alya’s never going to find out about that. “No,” Marinette insists. “We weren’t really in the mood for dancing after the akuma attack.”

As expected, Alya’s eyes light up at the mention of the akuma attack. “Oh, yeah! Masquerage. I got a ton of close-up shots. You should’ve seen how quickly Ladybug and Chat beat the akuma! I’ve never seen them so focused.”

Marinette shrugs, holding back a smile. “Maybe they had somewhere to be.”

“That reminds me,” Alya says. “Don’t think I didn’t see Charles carry you out of the dance, because I totally did.” She taps something on her phone screen, then holds it up for Marinette to see. “I even got a picture.”

“Alya.” Marinette nudges the phone away. “Seriously?”

Alya cackles. “Relax, Marinette! It was sweet. He was being a gentleman.”

“Ha,” Marinette says, snorting. “You should see how he eats his food. Far from gentlemanly.”

“Still…” Alya taps her chin. “It’s too bad he didn’t stick around for the akuma attack. It was his first one, and he missed it!”

“That’s because he’s a normal person,” Marinette says. She starts towards the door, and Alya follows alongside her. “Most people _run_ when they see an akuma. You’re the exception.”

“All in the name of journalism!” Alya declares. “As the creator of the Ladyblog, I’m expected to be on the scene. You’d understand if you were a reporter.”

“Maybe.”

They’re halfway up the stairs to the classroom when Alya reaches out and stops her. “So.”

Marinette glances around. The courtyard is almost empty by now—most students have already gone to their classrooms. “What?”

“Are you really still hung up on Adrien, after all that?”

“Wh—you—how—I…” Marinette shakes her head, spluttering. “What do you mean? Of course I am! Not—not hung up, that’s the wrong word. But of course I still like him!”

Alya frowns. “Oh. I could’ve sworn…”

“Yes?”

She shrugs, adjusting her glasses. “You and Charles seemed pretty close at the dance. I thought maybe you two were dating.”

“Alya,” Marinette says with a sigh. “Charles means a lot to me. But I’m in love with Adrien! That’s not going to change after one dance.”

For a moment, she really thought it might. The night of the dance, she’d lain awake in bed and stared at the ceiling, clutching her Chat Noir doll against her heart and searching for answers. She loved Chat, that much was obvious. But _how_ did she love him? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t come to a conclusion. Thoughts muddled, she’d finally drifted off to a restless sleep.

Her dreams had been just as confusing. In one, she kissed Adrien, only to lean back and realize it was Chat she’d kissed; then Chat asked her out, and when Marinette opened her mouth to answer, no sound came out. In another dream, the two boys sparred for her affections, baton versus fencing foil, battering each other while Marinette stood frozen by indecision. The same images, over and over again, an exhausting marathon that wouldn't end. 

And when Marinette woke up in the morning, there’d been that dreamlike veil over the whole dance. Half-convinced that the entire thing was a figment of her imagination, Marinette went about her weekend as if nothing had happened. The jacket and dress hung hidden in her closet, the mask stashed away in some drawer, and aside from a few sly digs from her parents, Marinette wasn’t forced to confront reality.

Now, Alya’s questions have unearthed her doubts all over again. Frustratingly, Marinette’s still not sure how she feels about Chat—but she does know how she feels about Adrien, and she knows that her feelings for him haven’t changed since last week. 

If anything, Marinette’s newfound understanding of Chat has offered a few new insights about Adrien. After finding out that Chat had an entire side of his personality that she didn’t know about, Marinette’s realized that she only really knows one side of Adrien Agreste, too. She still hasn’t gotten to know everything that makes him human: his flaws, his insecurities, the parts of himself that he’s too afraid to show the world.

Today, she’s more determined than ever to get closer to him and discover those things. 

“You don’t seem sure about that,” Alya says.

“I have a crush on Adrien,” Marinette repeats. “I know that much.”

“If you say so,” Alya says. She continues up the stairs, and Marinette hastens to keep up with her. “So are you finally going to ask Adrien out, then?”

“No!” Marinette says. “No, of course not! I still can’t say hello without stuttering.”

Alya glances over her shoulder. “Do you think you can manage _that,_ then?”

Marinette gulps, thinking back over Chat’s advice from Friday night. _Don’t be so nervous around Adrien. You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng! There’s no way he thinks so little of you._

“I can try,” she says.

Rolling her eyes, Alya leads Marinette into the classroom. Most of the other students are chatting in their seats, each individual voice lost in the buzz of conversation.

Except for one. Clear and light, Adrien’s laugh floats above the others. Marinette freezes when she sees him in his seat, smiling and talking with Nino like always. Something about his gestures, his smile, his laugh seem familiar—but of course they seem familiar! He’s Adrien Agreste, the boy she’s been in love with for ages. What is she thinking?

After a few seconds, Adrien’s eyes flick over to her. He raises a hand in greeting, his smile growing impossibly wider. “Salut, Marinette.”

Marinette stands frozen for another second. _Say something! Don’t be nervous. He cares about you. He’s happy to see you. You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng!_

Inspiration strikes, and she mightily declares, “I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

Every voice in the room falls silent. Chloé snorts, muffling a laugh behind her manicured hand, and Lila snickers in the back row. The expressions on her classmates’ faces range from amusement to pity, and oh, no—this is worse than a stuttered _bonjour._ This is mortifying.

Marinette’s feet start to move backward of their own accord, but Alya’s hand wraps around her arm and holds her in place. When Marinette glances at her despairingly, Alya simply shakes her head. Then she mercilessly shoves Marinette toward Adrien’s desk.

Adrien jumps up from his seat, a hand clutched to his chest dramatically. “Dupain-Cheng?” he repeats, his eyes wide. “Mon dieu! You’re _the_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I’m so very sorry, I didn’t realize.” He gives an elaborate bow and takes her hand in his, eyes sparkling. “I love your work, mademoiselle. I’m a huge fan, possibly your biggest.”

“Adrichou,” Chloé drawls. “ _What_ are you doing? I’m embarrassed for you.”

Grinning, Adrien adds, “By the way, I’m Adrien Agreste. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Marinette giggles despite herself. It’s hard not to, when Adrien’s clutching her hand like she’s a duchess or something. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Ah, the betrayal!” Adrien exclaims, holding his free hand to his forehead. “The lady’s barely heard of me! Nino, catch me. I’m feeling faint.”

Nino glances between Marinette and Adrien. “Wait—what—”

Without further ado, Adrien throws himself at Nino, letting out a sigh as he does. Nino scrambles to catch him, awkwardly falling against the desk with his arms supporting Adrien’s weight.

A few students are laughing, caught off-guard by Adrien’s dramatic display. Mouth twitching toward a smile, Adrien fans himself and moans in pain. “Nino, save me! I’m a model. I need attention. Without it, I fear I shall die.”

Alya snorts, and when Marinette glances over, she realizes her friend is recording the entire thing on her phone. Adrien must not realize—or maybe he _does_ realize, which is why he’s hamming it up so much. Marinette’s chest shakes with barely suppressed laughter. Who knew Adrien Agreste was such a grandstander? He could give Chat a run for his money.

“What?” Nino says. “Alya, help.”

“Nope,” Alya says. “You’re on your own.”

“It’s too late!” Adrien cries. “Even my best friend isn’t paying attention to me. I’m not long for this world now. Nino, tell my hamster I love him.”

With that, he closes his eyes and slumps against Nino, making a choking noise.

“You don’t have a hamster!” Nino says.

Adrien cracks an eye open. “Then buy a hamster! And tell him I love him.”

“Marinette,” Nino says, as Adrien dies in his arms a second time. “Please help.”

At this point, most of the class has burst into laughter, completely forgetting about Marinette’s embarrassing outburst. Marinette laughs along with them, her stomach hurting as she gasps for air. “N-no, I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” she says. “I’m the one who brutally slayed him.”

“That’s right!” Adrien says, pointing in Marinette’s direction with his eyes closed. “You did this, Marinette. My blood is on your hands.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “For the love of—”

“Class,” Mademoiselle Bustier’s voice rings out over the sound of giggling and guffawing. “You can have fun during your break. Now we need to start today’s lesson.” She smiles at Nino, who’s staring at the ceiling as if wondering what he did to deserve this. “Adrien, do you need Nino to take you to the nurse?”

Adrien leaps away from Nino, his entire face bright red. One of his hands flies up to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, no, Mademoiselle Bustier. I’m, uh…I’m fine.”

She nods. “You four take a seat, and then we’ll begin.”

“See, Marinette?” Alya murmurs. “Adrien totally wants you to pay more attention to him.” With a snort, she pockets her phone and takes her seat behind Nino.

Smiling, Marinette makes her way to the seat behind Adrien’s. “Thank you,” she whispers as she passes him.

Adrien beams in response, though his face is still bright red. “Of course,” he whispers back. “Though I think I overdid it.”

Marinette sits behind him and leans forward. “Hm,” she says. “Maybe the second death was a bit much, but I’d say it was still a solid performance.”

Adrien tilts his head to glance back at her, his body still facing the front of the classroom. “I admit, my improvisation’s a little weak. I’ll have to work on that.” The corner of his mouth tugs up in a smile. “Are you going to give me more material?”

Laughing, Marinette reaches down and shoves his shoulder. “Not if I can help it!”

“Marinette,” Mademoiselle Bustier says. “Do you have a question?”

“Sorry!” Marinette says. “No.”

“Then pay attention, please.”

Adrien turns back toward the board, a blush still staining his ears and neck, and Marinette stares at the back of his head in awe. Adrien Agreste blushing, instead of her? It seems impossible. She wonders if this entire morning is just a crazy dream concocted by Chat’s words. How else could she have had an entire conversation with Adrien sans stuttering?

And to be sure, she’s intrigued by this new Adrien in front of her: one who makes a fool of himself to spare Marinette from humiliation, who puts on a dramatic show for Alya’s camera, who laughs and jokes with Marinette like he’s been doing it for years. Was he always like this? Is this what Marinette has been missing out on this whole time? It reminds her a little of Chat, but rather than repelling her, it only makes Adrien’s pull on her stronger.

Maybe this won’t be as hard as she thought. If Adrien’s even a bit like Chat, Marinette shouldn’t have any trouble talking to him. She smiles to herself. Yes, that’s right. Today marks the day that Marinette Dupain-Cheng is no longer flustered by Adrien Agreste! Never again will she squeal or stutter. She’s a new girl. No, a new _woman._ Her blushing schoolgirl days are officially behind her.

Then Adrien passes her a note halfway through class. _By the way, Nino showed me a picture of you from the dance. You looked lovely. I wish I could have seen your dress in person—I love the design, especially the dark color you used for the lace. Do you think you’ll ever design men’s clothes with lace? Maybe you could try that for my father’s next competition. I’d be happy to model for you if you do._

If the image of Chat in a lace shirt was difficult for Marinette’s brain to handle, the thought of Adrien almost has her head exploding. Face heating, she buries her face in her hands and holds back a squeal.

Well. Maybe she’s not a new woman, after all. But this time, she’s not the only one blushing—and that, Marinette’s sure, is progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re done! I just want to clarify—I love Marichat/Adrienette, but I can’t see those two getting together after one romantic night. I think they’d be too confused about their feelings to act on them right away, you know? So, I’m sorry if anyone hoped they’d explicitly get together in this fic! They've still got a long way to go.
> 
> That said, I do have an outline for a sequel, where a slightly less oblivious Adrien tries to pursue Marinette. I can’t promise when I’ll write that, exactly, but I _will_ write it eventually. If you want to get a notification when the sequel goes up, I've created a series for this fic that you can subscribe to. 
> 
> Finally, I’m somewhat active on [Tumblr](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/), so feel free to keep in touch there! I’m happy to talk to you guys about fics or the show anytime…though I occasionally disappear to avoid spoilers when a new episode comes out, so keep that in mind.
> 
>  **June 2020 update:** A few days ago, I finished the first draft of the sequel! It will take me a little while to edit it, but I hope to start posting at the end of this month. I sometimes post updates under the tag "writing update" on my Tumblr, so feel free to check that out if you're wondering about how much progress I've made.


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